tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69700565660139304252018-12-14T04:50:03.618-06:00Marla Crider: Who, me? A breast cancer patient's storyThis blog documents the journey of Marla Crider, a 60 year-old travel professional from Little Rock, Arkansas, as she battles a breast cancer called invasive ductal carcinoma (stage 3). From the moment of her diagnosis, she chronicles her experience. Be forewarned this blog may provide a raw glimpse into the author’s psyche and ability to deal with a life threatening challenge. Hopefully, her honesty and humor will provide advice and help to others who find themselves in a crusade of their own.Marla Cridernoreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-39750920846010978632016-01-21T13:33:00.000-06:002016-01-21T13:33:10.744-06:00About the book State of a Union: Inside the Complex Marriage of Bill and Hillary Clinton, by Jerry OppenheimerI am Marla Crider's nephew. It has come to my attention that Marla's name is again in the news regarding her brief relationship with Bill Clinton decades ago, before he was married to Hillary. In particular, author Jerry Oppenheimer has raised Marla's name again, claiming that she let him interview her again before her death.<br /><br />I do not believe this to be true.<br /><br />In the final months of her life, I helped Marla with this blog. She had two wishes. First, she wanted to share her experience battling cancer in a way that would be helpful to anyone going through the same thing. Second, she wanted to push down all references to Bill Clinton - push them off the page - whenever people Googled her name. Sitting down for an interview with Mr. Oppenheimer would certainly have run counter to that goal. I saw no new information in the news articles I've read today. I saw no new quotes from Marla that were not in the book when it was written years ago. New photos of Marla that appeared in the news stories could easily have been lifted from this blog by Mr. Oppenheimer.<br /><br />I believe Mr. Oppenheimer is using Marla's name in an attempt to generate new interest in his book so that he can make a little bit more money. If Mr. Oppenheimer has any proof that he actually spoke to Marla "shortly before her death," I'd welcome visiting with him about it.<br /><br />To those who are reading this blog after finding it while searching for information about breast cancer, please continue reading and know that it was Marla's wish that her experience during her battle will give you strength and comfort.<br /><br /><br />Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-56832347927354995492015-05-26T11:28:00.003-05:002015-05-26T11:39:40.891-05:00Remembrances of Marla F. Crider<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eTVfiAmW-Kg/VWSgmbJyD_I/AAAAAAAAANY/sSHA7Qlx8lA/s1600/10847772_10205228174244821_6277961494343930321_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eTVfiAmW-Kg/VWSgmbJyD_I/AAAAAAAAANY/sSHA7Qlx8lA/s320/10847772_10205228174244821_6277961494343930321_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>After her heroic 18-month battle with breast cancer, on December 13 (2014), hundreds of people attended a memorial service for Marla F. Crider at First Christian Church in Fayetteville, Arkansas. The following are memories of Marla written by some of those in attendance:<br /><br /><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>Marla was the sister I received after marrying into the Crider family. She had a twinkle in her eye and we shared lots of fun times together.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>- Carolyn Crider</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla - my true friend for 38 years. You fought cancer like no other. You are at peace and out of pain. May Happy and you enjoy many laughs and giggles. God only made one Princess!&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Patty Roddenberry</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><i>My memory of Marla was of a beautiful, thoughtful, interested and interesting woman. Heaven must be all aglow.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>- Anonymous</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla - the shining star of Arkansas tourism!&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Anonymous</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>Marla never complained. She tried to trick everyone into thinking she was more healthy than she was. In fact, she would always ask about us before we had a chance to inquire about her. She knew everyone, and always had something nice to say. She always dressed to the nines. She was always upbeat. She fought so hard to not only give others strength, but to have her experience expand medical knowledge for others' treatment.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>- Cindy Smith</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">I remember being excited wear my pretty long dress to be Marla's flower girl. She was a beautiful person.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Sherry Watkins Anderson</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>I was very young and remember when Malcolm died we visited the family. When Marla was born, I remember going to see her and how cute she was. All through the years she grew into such a beautiful and sweet girl. Love to the entire family.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i>- Pat Watkins</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was not only a boss to me, but a friend. I looked to her as a mentor. I will miss our conversations in the office and driving to and from commission meetings. She is greatly missed, and I will never forget her.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Erik Holbrooks</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla: Smile - hers like none other. With cancer, still a smile. What a lesson! Thank you, Marla. </i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Anonymous</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was a youth sponsor when I was younger. She became our "mother" for two others and myself (Susan Bailey Edwards and Gayle Jenkins). It's funny because all of us were the youngest siblings in our families. Marla was there to celebrate with us when we were Baptized and on through life as we celebrated graduations, marriages and births. I didn't remember or know until her memorial how alike we were. I, like her, had three older brothers, with the third brother dying at a young age (10 years apart) and then the birth of a first girl (almost 10 years apart). We were Princess girls with older brothers. I think of her often and she will always be a part of my happy memories. Love you, "Mom!" </span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Betty Arambel</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><b>H</b>onorably happy,</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><b>A</b>ctive believer,</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><b>P</b>retty and precious,</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><b>P</b>rincess,</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><b>Y</b>outhful for eternity.</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- George Wheatley</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla, you have shown us all COURAGE.&nbsp;</span></i><br /><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Anonymous</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">The word that comes to mind when I think of Marla is resilient. In fact she should be listed as one of the definitions of the word. These are some of the definitions I found when I looked for ways to describe this incredible woman:<br /><br />1. The ability to become strong and successful again after something bad happens.<br />2. The ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever.<br />3. The capacity to withstand stress and catastrophe.<br />4. The ability to cope with change.<br />5. Being able to endure tribulation without cracking, closely connected to happiness.<br /><br />See what I mean? She faced cancer with an uncommon courage that amazed all of us. One day as we sat waiting for chemo, I asked her how she coped with the fear and anxiety. Without even a moment of hesitation she replied, "you don't let it get in your mind." That was our take-charge Marla. She simply took charge of her mind. As she said in one of her posts, " in spite of cancer, I choose to be happy." She made this devastating loss so much easier for us. She was one of a kind.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Mike and Barbara Crider</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla and I always worked in tourism. We are the same age. When I worked in Arkansas, we travelled to trade shows, market places and events. She was the most fun representative of the State of Arkansas. I work in Branson and we have kept in touch all along. Arkansas tourism lost their greatest cheerleader. Love you, Marla!&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Lynn Berry</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was all those things that Don described - intelligent, brave and classy always. I might have added sassy to the list. I am so happy to learn how warm and loving her family is. We are all better for knowing Marla. May we all find even a fraction of her courage and grace. I love you and miss you, Marla.</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Anonymous</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Our families have known each other for generations. My parents grew up with Happy and Mitchell. When I was in Hot Springs a few years ago, she met with me and told a funny story about my grandmother. That's how she was - friendly, kind, gracious. But that 's the way all the Criders are. They never forget you. I'm so sorry her life ended so early. My prayers are with the family at this time.</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Kathleen Webb Wallace</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla and I were college friends and were inseparable for a time. I always enjoyed spending time with her laughing, sharing secrets, and just having a great time. As time would have it, our lives took different turns and we were apart. But Marla was always someone I could always continue a conversation no matter how long it had been since we had last seen each other. What an honor it was to have known her and shared sweet moments with her.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Susan Freeman Wizer</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla and I share our love for cats. I remember being sent pictures of her sweet cat. I remember always thinking of her when I played with her dolls that had been passed down to me.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Hannah Crider</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla always had the most incredible sparkle. She was just full of life and beauty and wit. She will be missed.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Kiki Crider</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Wonderful memories of a great cousin. We will meet you in Heaven some day.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Leon and Alice Bradshaw</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla and I grew up in First Christian Church together. I was two years older than Marla, and when you are young two years is a huge span of time. Therefore, to me, she was one of the "little kids." I know that Marla lived a happy life.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Pam Nickle</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>I dated Marla from 2002 until late 2004. She loved boating on Lake Hamilton and travelling on the Arkansas River on my cruiser. She was a beautiful, strong Lady. I will miss her as others. We have remained friends up to the very end.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Paul Hastings</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Though I knew Marla for many years. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with her. I met her when we were seniors in High School. She introduced me to one of her very best friends - and he became mine. We have celebrated 40 years together, thanks to Marla. She has always been an energetic, positive person and through her disease and treatment became an inspiration to so many - myself included. Marla was such an example of how to deal with disappointment &nbsp;and extraordinary pain. She remained incredibly strong in her walk with God. She has taught us all that life can be short and we should live each day to the fullest, making each moment count. Her absence leaves our hearts heavy, but we all know she rests with Jesus and smiles down on each of us.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Anonymous</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>At our wedding reception in 1997, Marla was the<u> first</u>person to hit the dance floor after the Father/Daughter dance. She took over the dance floor with laughter when she began doing the "Elaine Benes" dance from Seinfeld.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Christy Crider</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was a "get it done" person. She lived the life of "lead, follow, or get out of my way." </span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Shelby Woods</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla - Try not to tell St. Peter where to eat lunch.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Gloria and Richard</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla loved my voice. That sounds like a good thing, but I really wanted a better, professional voice to represent Arkansas Tourism in our TV and radio spots. I lived in dread for a week or two as we debated the voice choice. In the end, she agreed that there was a much better voice out there to attract visitors to our great state. She was brilliant that way - to be active and dedicated to promoting Arkansas, and to the do the right thing for her beloved state. Still in all, I was flattered she had confidence in me and appreciated her guidance always.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Bill Fitzgerald</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla: I have only known you for less than a year and through this short time I considered you my family. I know you are in a better place now and I will be able to see you again someday. You have a special place in my heart and I love you.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Charlee Martin</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was my new friend (mi nuevaamiga). My brother Miguel and me, we met her working with our new client the Department of Parks and Tourism. Even I did not have the opportunity to spend and share more time with Marla, I can say that Marla was a beautiful woman with a big heart. Thank Marla for your friendship. Gracias Amiga.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Enrique Fuentevilla</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>When we hired Marla at the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism, she made several changes in our policies and procedures, saying there was "a new Sherriff in town." The rest of us were happy to be her Deputies.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Joe David Rice</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla was a very genuine, warm and a fighter. We were not aware of her disease, never realize it because of the strength and attitude to life. We had a chance to eat some authentic Mexican restaurants. She also support us and was very excited of our new working relationship. I have a lot to learn from such a beautiful person.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Miguel Fuentevilla</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>I have never met anyone who exhibited the amount of courage as I saw in Marla. Working with her from day to day gave me so much strength and faith in God. She handled her life a remarkable way, showing her faith and strength. Her last 1 1/2 years were an inspiration to many and testament to the glory of God. My life has been richly blessed by knowing her.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Cynthia Dunlap</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">I worked for Marla, and one evening my son told me he was punched on the bus. I was determined to get to the bottom of it the next day. I called Marla at 8:30 pm and told her what happened - that I was going to be late in the morning. She told me to do what I needed to do and don't let them brush it off. Marla was just as fired up and mad at what happened as I was! She wanted to know how everything turned out and gave me strength to keep pushing the school to act. This was a week before she left for the last time.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Jennifer Neubaner</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>What a wonderful spirit she had! Always fashionable, happy and confident. If someone could bottle what she had, they would be a billionaire. How rich we are to have known Marla.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Marilyn Heifner</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Marla - I'll miss your wit and charm - bust mostly I'll miss you.&nbsp;</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">-Bryan Kellar</span></i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>Marla, I'm so glad to be a part of your family and lucky that I got to know you (it's always interesting that I met you through work SO many years ago and then got to know you as family). You just always filled any room with your sparkle and energy (no matter what). I'll miss you.&nbsp;</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>- Morgan Robinson-Crider</i></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><i><span style="color: #e06666;">Many times throughout my career in Arkansas, I made long presentations full of complex strategic plans and ideas, only to have the client's first question be: "Are you related to Marla?" I was always proud to say "yes."</span></i><br /><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">- Scott Crider</span></i></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-39262842657976733582014-11-18T08:59:00.003-06:002014-11-18T08:59:25.389-06:00Marla Crider Memorial Service<div style="direction: ltr; language: en-US; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';">A Memorial Service for Marla F. Crider will take place at </span><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';">11:00 A.M. </span><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';">(Central Time) on Saturday</span><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';">, December 13, 2014 at First Christian Church in Fayetteville, AR</span><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';">.</span></div><div style="direction: ltr; language: en-US; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: Raleway - Light;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Raleway - Light';"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYWvNkbBX9U/VGtesud4ywI/AAAAAAAAAMw/LqxaOsS12PQ/s1600/Memorial_Service_announcement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYWvNkbBX9U/VGtesud4ywI/AAAAAAAAAMw/LqxaOsS12PQ/s1600/Memorial_Service_announcement.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-52967673682919528792014-09-17T21:15:00.000-05:002014-09-17T21:15:20.462-05:00Can Happiness Fight Cancer?It has been more than a month since I documented my continuing treatment plan for <b>Stage IV, triple negative breast cancer</b>. &nbsp;In the past few weeks, unfamiliar road blocks have cropped up, teaching me even more about this insidious disease than I ever wanted to know.&nbsp; Just to clarify, what I’m experiencing is no different than what others with cancer endure everyday,&nbsp;it’s just new to me and my battle.&nbsp; I'll explain...<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gc6N_QDBohQ/VBo_dwz24DI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/m-EDMBIKZ_k/s1600/Chemo%2Btreatment%2B%237%2B(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gc6N_QDBohQ/VBo_dwz24DI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/m-EDMBIKZ_k/s1600/Chemo%2Btreatment%2B%237%2B(2).jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla, smiling through<br />chemo treatment #7</td></tr></tbody></table>Several weeks ago, <b>Dr. Makhoul</b> ordered a routine <b>PET scan</b> to determine how the <b>carboplatin/gemzar</b> chemo cocktail had impacted the small, cancer-laden tumors in my bones, liver and lungs. After the second dose of the chemo drugs, we were all elated that the cancer nodules on my head and back had disappeared.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul was in hopes the drugs were having the same effect on other parts of my body.&nbsp;<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Interestingly, the chemo destroyed some of the old lesions, which were not detected at all on the scan; however, new ones showed up, mostly in my spine and liver. Needless to say, I was disappointed that more progress had not been made, as was Dr. Makhoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He suggested that we start looking for new drug trials again, especially since the idea of going to <b>M.D. Anderson</b> in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city> fell through. Dr. Mak planned to have his research team investigate various drug trials all over the country to see if there are trials for which I might qualify.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said he would call me a few days later with an update.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In the meantime, the good doctor prescribed the third carboplatin/gemzar treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He felt that even though the results were not as good as we had hoped, it was still working – slowly - and should be continued while the search was underway for a drug trial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My brother, Mike, and sister-in-law Barbara faithfully traveled to <b>Little Rock</b>, once again, and accompanied me to Infusion 1 for the treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Unfortunately, the chemo treatment and the medical team that administers it have become routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Each week, with a nod of the head, we acknowledge familiar faces awaiting their turn for treatment. We smile and cordially speak to one another as we patiently wait for the poison concoction to trickle into our bloodstreams and silently pray that remission, or better yet, a cure, is just a drip away.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The week following my third treatment, I noticed that the <b>fatigue</b> was more prevalent than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I actually became winded when I made the walk from the parking lot at work to my office, which was unusual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Mid-afternoon became a challenge for me to stay focused and awake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I assumed that the third treatment of chemo had built up in my system, just as Mr. Nurse Ratched had predicted. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I returned for my next chemo treatment, a week later, I reported for the usual lab work to check my red and white blood cells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About 30 minutes later, the charge nurse in Infusion 1 called my name in the waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I assumed she was escorting me to a recliner for my treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Wrong!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She informed me that my white blood count was very low (<b>neutrophils at 2.1</b>); therefore, Dr. Makhoul cancelled my chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In fact, she said Dr. Makhoul was very concerned that if I were exposed to a cold or other type of infection my immune system wouldn't be able to fight it. She explained that if I ran any fever over the weekend I was to call Dr. Makhoul immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Well, it was now understandable why I was experiencing extreme fatigue; it was the low white blood count.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The plan was to stimulate my bone marrow to make more white blood cells, so Dr. Makhoul prescribed three consecutive days of <b>Neupogen</b>, a drug that would do just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The first injection was scheduled to be given that day – Friday – while I was still in Infusion 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The RN, who was preparing to inject the Neupogen into my belly forewarned me that the main side effect was bone pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Well, that’s just dandy – fatigue AND bone pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The next injection was to be given on Saturday morning at <b>UAMS Cancer Institute</b> on the 4<sup>th</sup>floor, where multiple myeloma patients receive treatment, followed by another injection on Sunday morning in the same location.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Over that weekend, I was not only exhausted, but I was experiencing a lot of bone discomfort that moved from my upper spine to my lower spine and all places in between. All I could hope is that the pain was due to my bone marrow making lots of new white cells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The good news is that by mid-week I felt like my old self – full of energy and a renewed fighting spirit.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was scheduled for another chemo treatment the following Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I reported for the routine lab work, I was anxious to know the results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About 30 minutes later, I was called back to the infusion room… for chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My white blood cells had increased enough to get back on track with treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was relieved because every week without chemo could give the cancer cells a head start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Bring on the chemo; I’m more than ready.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The following week, the extreme fatigue returned, indicating that my blood count had dropped again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I reported that Friday for the next chemo treatment, I flunked my lab test and, again, had to take the Neupogen shots to build up my white count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The next five days were filled with exhaustion and bone pain but my energy level improved by mid-week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I had an appointment with Dr. Makhoul a few days later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We agreed that I would return to a regular chemo schedule and the Neupogen shots would automatically follow for three consecutive days after each treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This plan would keep us on track and prevent any future cancellations of treatments, which suited me just fine.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">During our visit, Dr. Makhoul informed me that his research team had found two new drug trials for triple negative breast cancer for which I might qualify.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Both trials are being conducted at <st1:placename w:st="on">Washington</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul was very excited about one of the trials in particular, which involves a chemo drug that is currently being used as a treatment by some oncologists for other kinds of cancer – one that I have yet to experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After administering the existing cancer drug, the trial drug would be injected, which should flush the cancer cells into the bloodstream, making them much more susceptible to being “zapped” by the existing chemotherapy drug. We learned that this particular drug trial is taking a three to four-week hiatus to collect and organize the data collected at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When the trial comes back on line, Dr. Makhoul has submitted my name and case for admission to the program. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The second trial is brand new and involves testing the cancer-laden tumor that was extracted during last year’s mastectomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If the tissue contains a particular mutation, then I would qualify for the trial and be given a new immunotherapy drug that would enhance my immune system and improve its capability of fighting cancer cells. The medical necessity for me to qualify for either of these drug trials is monumental. As Dr. Makhoul told me several months ago, the plan is to keep me alive long enough to find a cure for my particular type of breast cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While those words are sobering, they are also my reality. My fingers are crossed and many prayers are being said daily in hopes of qualifying for one of these programs.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Several weeks ago, someone asked me how I cope on a daily basis with the knowledge that I have Stage IV breast cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My answer surprised the inquisitor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even though I have a life-threatening disease, my life is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I work at a job that I love and with people that are like family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My responsibilities at the <b>Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism</b> help occupy my mind so that cancer seldom enters my thoughts during the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m a happy working girl. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In addition,&nbsp;I’m lucky and fortunate to have a loving relationship with Don, who has been with me during every step of this battle. He interprets the tests and translates the doctor­-jargon that might confuse any other patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He talks frankly with me and doesn't soften the reality that I’m sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He makes me happy.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I have a caring family that has committed themselves to accompany me to each chemo treatment and doctor’s visit, even though they live more than 180 miles away. They provide me with encouragement and embrace me with their love and support on a daily basis and that makes me happy. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My support network is hundreds strong and includes friends, both old and new, colleagues and acquaintances that cheer me on and offer their prayers when I need them most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They make me happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’m fortunate to have a remarkable, experienced medical team that cares for me as an individual patient and not just a number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They are just as concerned about my health status as I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They talk me through the difficult treatments, answer my questions and treat me with respect-and that makes me happy. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Cancer has taught me much, like loving unconditionally and not taking myself too seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It has taught me how to be grateful for the smallest of accomplishments and to appreciate the wealth of support and encouragement received from family, friends and my medical team.<br /><br />Make no mistake; cancer is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> my friend, yet it is a part of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One of the ways I have learned to fight this disease is to not give into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>How do I accomplish that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>By being&nbsp;happy!<br /><br />And that, I am.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-76247300884775262282014-07-21T09:44:00.001-05:002014-07-21T09:44:29.656-05:00Bumpity, bump, bump.....Sometimes, it seems, things just aren't meant to be, such as my July 14 appointment at M.D. Anderson Cancer Institute in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Several weeks after my <b>UAMS oncologist, Dr. Issam Makhoul</b>, made the arrangements for me to see the cancer team at M. D. Anderson for possible inclusion in a trial drug protocol and/or new treatment program, I noticed six to eight hard, pea-sized nodules on my scalp.&nbsp; Since my appointment at M.D. Anderson was still more than three weeks away, I decided to call Dr. Makhoul’s office and tell his nurse, Brenda, about the bumps on my head. It was Friday afternoon. She told me that Dr. Makhoul was out of town but she would let him know the first thing Monday morning.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SIc3pqgy7KY/U80mT4mgSrI/AAAAAAAAAL4/a9pmXIH9DQg/s1600/MC+and+DV+-+July+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, cancer, chemotherapy, advice, patient's blog" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SIc3pqgy7KY/U80mT4mgSrI/AAAAAAAAAL4/a9pmXIH9DQg/s1600/MC+and+DV+-+July+4.JPG" height="268" title="marla crider and dr. don vowell" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla and Don - July 4, 2014</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After fighting cancer off and on for more than a year, I knew that the bumps on my head, and now a new one on my back, were related to the metastatic breast cancer.&nbsp; Having cancer improves one’s health instincts. More times than not, the least little change in the body is usually a pretty good barometer that something isn't right. Late Monday afternoon, I finally received a call from UAMS.&nbsp; It wasn't Brenda, Dr. Mak’s nurse; it was the good doctor himself, which alarmed me just a tad.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I answered the phone, Dr. Makhoul wanted me to know that he had placed a call to M.D. Anderson Cancer Institute to inquire why my appointment was scheduled more than six weeks after he requested their medical team see me.&nbsp; He promised to contact me after he spoke to someone in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">About an hour later, Dr. Makhoul phoned me to share what he had learned.&nbsp; It seems that M.D. Anderson recently changed its policy when accepting and scheduling patients.&nbsp; <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Texas</st1:place></st1:state>residents are seen first, followed by patients from other states, then international patients.&nbsp; Since I’m from little old <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:place></st1:state>, my appointment was delayed for six weeks, without considering how aggressive the cancer had become. Dr. Makhoul was incensed that no one from M.D. Anderson had notified the UAMS oncology department about the new policy, especially since the doctors there refer lots of patients to them.&nbsp; The oncologist with whom Dr. Makhoul spoke went on to tell him that I wasn't a candidate for any of the trial treatments being offered and he encouraged Dr. Makhoul to continue treating me in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:city></st1:place>.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul told me that we could no longer wait to start a new treatment plan.&nbsp; He directed Brenda to schedule an appointment for me on Wednesday, as well as time in the infusion room for chemotherapy.&nbsp; Things were moving fast, as they always seem to do with cancer treatment.&nbsp; I must admit that I was actually relieved to learn that the appointment at M.D. Anderson had been canceled and I was back in the hands of the doctor I trusted the most. Even Don was satisfied with the current turn of events.&nbsp; He understood the urgency and was ready to stand by me, yet again, as I endured another series of <b>chemo treatments</b>.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As they had done a year earlier, my brothers decided that one of them would be with me for each chemo treatment.&nbsp; My older brother, Mike, and sister-in-law Barbara, drove from <st1:city w:st="on">Springdale</st1:city> in <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place> for my first treatment.&nbsp; As I have mentioned before, family support is key for those of us battling cancer.&nbsp; Never will I ever be able to verbally express my gratitude and unconditional love for the sacrifices of time and travel mine has provided me.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We all arrived at UAMS for my appointment with Dr. Makhoul to learn what his plan of action would be.&nbsp; It was early enough in the day that I only had to wait for an hour before seeing him.&nbsp; When Dr. Mak entered the exam room, I was very glad to see him.&nbsp; It had been more than a month since we had talked about my diagnosis.&nbsp; The first thing Dr. Mak did was examine the bumps on my scalp, as well as the one on my back, and acknowledged what I already knew; the cancer was spreading…quickly.&nbsp;</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-77ZjFW3zDXg/U80mzkCjiSI/AAAAAAAAAMA/dLaTK0-Uke0/s1600/MC+-+Chemo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, little rock, arkansas, breast cancer, triple negative, advice, patient blog" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-77ZjFW3zDXg/U80mzkCjiSI/AAAAAAAAAMA/dLaTK0-Uke0/s1600/MC+-+Chemo+2.JPG" height="200" title="Marla Crider: Infusion Room, UAMS Cancer Institute" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in the Infusion Room</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The plan included a double whammy of <b>carboplatin and gemzar </b>– two <b>chemotherapy drugs</b> that Dr. Makhoul said had rendered very good results for other patients.&nbsp; It may seem odd to be excited about taking chemotherapy, but I was.&nbsp; It meant that I was no longer going to have to sit idly by while the cancer cells dined freely on my liver, lungs and bones.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My family, Don and I made our way to the very familiar surroundings of Infusion 1, located on the first floor at the <b>UAMS Cancer Institute’s Outpatient Clinic</b>. As usual, the waiting room was almost to capacity and our wait was long.&nbsp; When my name was finally called, I almost skipped to the recliner where I would begin treatment.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">How appropriate that Mr. Nurse Ratched would be the RN assigned to administer the newest round of chemotherapy. He greeted me with a smile and requested I tell him my current status. When I shared that the cancer had spread to my lungs, liver and pelvis, he said, “Yep, that’s where breast cancer likes to go, but rest assured Dr. Makhoul has an arsenal of chemo drugs to get you back on the right track.”&nbsp; I was somewhat surprised that Mr. Nurse Ratched was actually trying to make me feel better.&nbsp; Who knew that the guy was capable of compassion?&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As Mr. Nurse Ratched prepared to start pumping the intravenous poison into my system, I noticed two new RNs in the infusion room – both were male.&nbsp; I remarked that it appeared he was no longer the token male in Infusion 1.&nbsp; He replied, “Yes, I have two new roosters in my hen house.”&nbsp; I laughed out loud.&nbsp; My nemesis with the questionable bedside manner had acquired a sense of humor since our first encounter more than a year ago. &nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mike and Barbara shared “sitting” duty, while the carboplatin and gemzar dripped into my bloodstream, each drug taking approximately 30 minutes. Mr. Nurse Ratched told me the usual side effects from the drugs were <b>fatigue</b>, <b>constipation</b>, and a possibility that my<b> blood counts</b> might be affected. Some hair thinning was also possible.&nbsp; I have determined that side effects are what you allow them to be and I refused to let them interfere with my daily routine or my job.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul scheduled me for chemo two consecutive weeks, then off the third week to allow my body to recover.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Fatigue and a few achy bones were the side effects that I noticed after the first treatment.&nbsp; Also, I was experiencing some <b>insomnia</b>.&nbsp; Even with that, I felt blessed that the side effects were minimal and prayed that this would be the norm, not the exception.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Treatment number two was scheduled on July 3.&nbsp; My middle brother, Marion, and sister-in-law Carolyn journeyed to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:city></st1:place>to provide support.&nbsp; Don was expecting 19 family members for the Fourth of July, so we agreed that he should spend time preparing for the mass of people and leave the care giving duties up to Marion and Carolyn.&nbsp; Whether necessary or not, it is always comforting to have family nearby, should something unforeseen happen.&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The most important thing I observed after the second treatment was that the bumps on my head were all but gone.&nbsp; The nodule on my back was still noticeable but felt smaller.&nbsp; I was ecstatic.&nbsp; After only two treatments, it was apparent the carboplatin and gemzar were killing the cancer cells!&nbsp; God bless Dr. Makhoul!!</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My miracle worker of a doctor requested to meet with me on July 18 - week three - to discuss my progress.&nbsp; This time, it was Mike and Barbara’s turn to make the trip to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:place></st1:city>. Since Don’s ability to walk has become more burdensome, due to numerous knee replacement surgeries and old sports injuries, I encouraged him to let my family do the walking, sitting and waiting with me and he agreed.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mike decided to accompany me to meet with Dr. Makhoul. As usual, the wait took about an hour.&nbsp; In his usual hurried state, Dr. Mak entered the exam room anxious to hear how I handled the first two treatments. When I shared that the bumps were gone, he almost didn’t believe me.&nbsp; He requested that I sit on the exam table for a quick check of my heart, lungs and bump patrol.&nbsp; To say that Dr. Makhoul was surprised and elated would be an understatement.&nbsp; He was almost giddy.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I told him that I was hopeful the chemo was working as hard to destroy the cancer cells internally as it had done externally.&nbsp; To determine if that is the case, Dr. Mak scheduled a PET scan for August 4 that will provide the answer.&nbsp; He ordered the third round of chemo and confirmed that I am still his poster child for chemotherapy because my blood work is excellent and the side effects are manageable, which is uncommon for the type of chemo I’m taking.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before Mike and I left the exam room, I heard Dr. Makhoul use the “R” word – <b>remission.</b>&nbsp; He enthusiastically told me he had several patients who had experienced remission after receiving the one-two punch of <b>carboplatin and gemzar </b>and I might just be one of them.&nbsp; I could feel the warmth of God’s embrace after that comment and even heard a faint “praise the Lord” coming from the direction of my brother.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I sat through the 90-minute intravenous drip of my two, new best friends – carboplatin and gemzar – I prayed silently that the “R” word would trump the “C” word and become a frequently spoken description of my health status.&nbsp; I certainly don’t want to get ahead of the PET scan results, but I keep repeating the word…remission.&nbsp; It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-2334709886180574242014-06-23T09:12:00.001-05:002014-06-23T09:37:30.414-05:00Houston: We Have a ProblemWhen Dr. Makhoul informed me nearly two months ago that the <b>triple negative breast cancer</b> had metastasized to my lungs, liver and pelvis, we made a joint decision to try a powerful oral chemo – <b>Xeloda (zeloda)</b> -&nbsp; as well as a bone enhancer/strengthener called <b>Zomata</b> that is to be given intravenously once a month.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JoqTQv_auCQ/U6gzwdgZKxI/AAAAAAAAALk/qybA9yrT_uw/s1600/M.D.+Anderson+Medical+Center-Houston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Breast cancer, advice, patient's blog, patient perspective, help for breast cancer patients" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JoqTQv_auCQ/U6gzwdgZKxI/AAAAAAAAALk/qybA9yrT_uw/s1600/M.D.+Anderson+Medical+Center-Houston.jpg" height="197" title="M.D. Anderson Cancer Institute -Houston" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">M.D. Anderson Cancer Institute - Houston, TX</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was instructed to take 1,500 milligrams of the Xeloda in the morning and evening for two weeks with one week off the drug.&nbsp; After week one, the <b>“hand and foot” syndrome</b> that <b>Dr. Makhoul</b> warned me about had made itself known. Occasionally, the bottoms of my feet would be so tender that it was a challenge to walk. I learned quickly that washing my hands in hot water was a no-no and showering in hot water wasn’t tolerable, either. &nbsp;Tepid temperatures were the new norm in my life.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"></div></div>During the week off the oral chemo, I could almost hear my body take a deep sigh of relief.&nbsp; My hands and feet returned to their usual flesh tone and my digestive system was craving Mexican food. I now understood why the doctors allowed a one-week vacation from the Xeloda.&nbsp; I had earned the time off.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The second, two-week cycle of the drug started off uneventful; however, at the end of the first week, the hand and foot syndrome returned with a vengeance and my diet no longer included spicy food.&nbsp; New to the side effect menu was a generous helping of <b>fatigue.</b>&nbsp; My body and brain were exhausted by the end of each work day.&nbsp; It was a challenge when I got home to prepare something to eat or even muster an appetite.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">By the end of the cycle, my hands and feet were extremely sensitive and tingled night and day.&nbsp; <b>Diarrhea</b> continued to be my nemesis and the fatigue was ever present.&nbsp; I was anxious to see Dr. Makhoul for my one-month, follow-up appointment that coincided with the end of the second, two-week cycle and hear what he had to say about the side effects.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My appointment was on May 16.&nbsp; Don and I arrived at <b>UAMS</b> for the required blood work at 11:00 a.m.&nbsp; We were to see Dr. Makhoul at 12:00 p.m.&nbsp; From a year’s worth of experience, we knew we were in for a one to two-hour wait.&nbsp; It was 2:40 p.m. when we finally saw the smiling face of the good doctor.&nbsp; He apologized, which was unnecessary.&nbsp; When you have cancer, you learn patience.&nbsp; And, if you expect the best doctors to treat you, it is a given that they constantly run behind schedule because they are providing others with the same detailed and compassionate care that you are privileged to have.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul reviewed the list of my side effects and explained that I would probably have to start wearing socks and tennis shoes when my feet were inflamed.&nbsp; Being the fashion diva that I am, I laughed out loud at the thought of me wearing the likes of socks and tennis shoes to work.&nbsp; I would figure out another solution – a stylish solution - to aid my pitiful feet.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">During our conversation, Dr. Mak informed me that he was scheduling a new <b>PET scan</b> for May 30 to see how the Xeloda was impacting the cancer.&nbsp; The results would be shared with me on June 2 but not by Dr. Makhoul.&nbsp; He was scheduled to be out of town.&nbsp; His nurse practitioner would deliver the results to me after he reviewed the scans and read the <b>radiologists</b> comparison report.&nbsp; Dr. Mak also wrote a partial prescription for two week’s worth of Xeloda that would get me through until the June 2<sup>nd</sup> appointment.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After we left Dr. Makhoul’s office, Don and I reported to Infusion 1 for my monthly, intravenous dose of Zomata.&nbsp; When we arrived at 3:30 p.m., the waiting area was filled with disgruntled patients, who had been waiting for their chemotherapy for hours. Apparently, UAMS installed a new, state-of-the-art patient charting system that drastically slowed down the chemotherapy infusion process and other out-patient units at the medical center. In addition, the new system crashed twice earlier in the day, creating a back log of patients waiting for their chemo.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Finally, I was called back at 5:15 to receive the 15-minute I.V. dose of Zomata.&nbsp; While I was exhausted from being at the med center for more than six hours (and most of it spent in waiting rooms), I actually felt sorry for the Infusion nurses who had no choice but to listen to people complain about the lengthy delays at the same time they were hooking them up to the poison that was supposed to cure them.&nbsp; Trust me; these dedicated health professionals earn their pay.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">For the next two weeks, I faithfully took the Xeloda while my hands and feet continued to show signs of irritation and even began peeling “sheets” of skin. I thought I was going to have to take Dr. Makhoul’s advice and wear socks and tennis shoes, when I found a pair of old-fashioned, “jelly” shoes that felt like I was walking on a cloud.&nbsp; They saved my poor, throbbing, peeling feet. The fatigue intensified in that two week period, as did my constant companion, diarrhea. If I was to adopt my significant other’s medical philosophy – the worse the side effects, the better its working - then the Xeloda must really be kickin’ butt for me to endure these intense side effects.&nbsp; The next PET scan would tell the tale.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I reported for the PET scan on May 30 after eating a no-carb diet the previous day/night. PET scans are tricky for diabetics because the radioactive concoction they inject in the system to track cancer cells is almost pure sugar.&nbsp; It’s important to have a fasting blood sugar of less than 250.&nbsp; When the radiology tech took a blood sample and tested it, my blood sugar was a whopping 195.&nbsp; Since finishing chemo last year, my blood sugar has been well controlled and never that high.&nbsp; I was within the limit, so they continued with the PET scan, which takes about 30 minutes.&nbsp; While the whirling X-ray machine made its way up and down my body, I had a lengthy conversation with God. When I left the X-ray room that day, I was at peace.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don and I coordinated our schedules and went to UAMS together for the PET scan results. We had been waiting only a few minutes when the nurse practitioner, Donna, entered the exam room.&nbsp; She introduced herself then sat down in front of the computer and pulled up my scan results.&nbsp; She slowly turned around to face me and said Dr. Makhoul had reviewed the scans and narrative report from the attending radiologist and, unfortunately, the news was not good.&nbsp;</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />“The oral chemo has not had any impact on the cancer,” she reported.&nbsp; As I looked at Donna’s ashen, somber face, I knew there was more bad news to come.&nbsp;“Dr. Makhoul is recommending that you go to <b>M.D. Anderson Cancer Institute in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city></b>for a consult and alternative treatment plan.”&nbsp; And, there it was.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was without emotion.&nbsp; Don rubbed my back, anticipating there might be a few tears.&nbsp; He knows me better than that. I’m in the battle of my life and there is no time or energy for a meltdown.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I asked Donna if Dr. Makhoul felt he had run out of treatment options and she was quick to respond, “No.”&nbsp; She reassured me that the reason he wants me to report to M.D. Anderson is that the facility is a little further along with research and trial treatments for triple negative breast cancer, which is my cross to bear.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Donna told me that the referral from Dr. Makhoul was being sent to M.D. Anderson that afternoon, along with all of my medical records dating back to my cancer diagnosis in May 2013. She explained that I would get a call from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Houston</st1:city></st1:place> within a few days with my appointment date.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vfeeW3Hy9Bw/U6g0ZjfaolI/AAAAAAAAALo/tpRfpcySCM4/s1600/Don+and+Marla-+Quality+Time.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="triple negative breast cancer, Marla Crider, Little Rock, Arkansas, UAMS, M.D. Anderson, advice" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vfeeW3Hy9Bw/U6g0ZjfaolI/AAAAAAAAALo/tpRfpcySCM4/s1600/Don+and+Marla-+Quality+Time.JPG" height="200" title="Marla Crider and Don Vowell" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider and Don Vowell</td></tr></tbody></table>Yet again, Don and I silently departed the <b>Winthrop P. Rockefeller Cancer Center</b> in silence, which was happening much too frequently of late.&nbsp; It was mid-afternoon and all I wanted to do was go back to work and focus on anything but cancer.&nbsp; Don asked if I wanted him to stay with me that night.&nbsp; I explained that I really needed the time to process the latest results by myself.&nbsp; As a trained physician, he understood.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One of the most difficult things I did that afternoon was tell my friends and colleagues at the office – the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism.&nbsp; They were waiting anxiously to finally hear some good news from me.&nbsp; It wasn’t easy watching Gloria and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Savannah</st1:place></st1:city>fight back the tears when I shared the results with them. And Linda, who has a quip for everything, was speechless.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That evening I had to make the dreaded call to my brothers.&nbsp; The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. I told them both that when I travel to M.D. Anderson, I would like for one of them to go with Don and me. &nbsp;My older brother, Mike, made the decision to accompany us to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Houston</st1:city></st1:place>.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few days later, I received a call from my newly assigned patient liaison, Carneshu, who told me that my M.D. Anderson appointment was scheduled for July 14.&nbsp; I was stunned that it would be five weeks before I would report to the cancer institute.&nbsp; All she told me was that the delay was necessary.&nbsp; Later, I learned that all the oral chemo must be out of my body before the cancer specialists in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city> could/would see me.&nbsp; That explanation didn’t help my eagerness to get this show on the road, but I had no choice.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When you have cancer, the worst news you can hear is that the disease has claimed another breast cancer “sister.” &nbsp;I’m dealing with that reality as I write this blog.&nbsp; My dear friend and former colleague, Cindy, passed away this weekend after fighting this horrible disease.&nbsp; When I was first diagnosed in May of 2013, Cindy was one of the first people to contact me and talk me through chemo and what I might expect.&nbsp; Her guidance was so helpful.&nbsp;&nbsp;Cindy was only 50 when she died and a true inspiration to many of us who continue the battle.&nbsp; Ahhh, Cindy… you were like my younger sister and I could not be more proud that you fought so gallantly and with such dignity.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">These days, I think often about my pending July 14 journey to M.D. Anderson in Houston and that famous statement from the movie Apollo 13 always comes to mind:&nbsp; “Houston, we have a problem.”&nbsp; And, boy, do we!&nbsp; &nbsp;Now, more than ever before, I am very determined that “<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>” is going to get me back on the path to recovery.&nbsp; Oh, for the day that I can yell from the State Capitol steps, “<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>, we no longer have a problem.”</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-60865608954420184892014-05-13T08:57:00.002-05:002014-05-13T14:13:10.798-05:00What Would Happy Do?This blog is being written on May 11 – Mother’s Day&nbsp;-&nbsp;the day when we honor amazing women who function as the be-all, do-all, glue that holds the family unit together day in and day out. Also on this holiday, we memorialize those who have paid their motherly dues in years past and are now at rest, like my mom, Happy.&nbsp; Interestingly, she was born Laura Elizabeth; however, at the age of two, her irresistible dimples gained her the appropriate nickname – Happy - that stayed with her all of her life.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OfhHvC32etM/U3IkmeB6WrI/AAAAAAAAALM/E-P3BVOLXm8/s1600/Here+We+Go+Again!+Marla+Receiving+Zomata+Treatment+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OfhHvC32etM/U3IkmeB6WrI/AAAAAAAAALM/E-P3BVOLXm8/s1600/Here+We+Go+Again!+Marla+Receiving+Zomata+Treatment+(1).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we go again - Marla receiving Zometa treatment.</td></tr></tbody></table>My mom was certainly the matriarch of our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Besides being kind and nurturing, she was an amazing homemaker, an accomplished cook, a seamstress extraordinaire, and more often than not, she was also the family peacemaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In her 90 years on this earth, I never heard her say a cuss word or talk despairingly about anyone. She was a phenomenal woman, and if I say so myself, she and my father raised three pretty darn good kids. <br /><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I remember as a child when I skinned a knee, had a cold, or endured the measles and mumps, my mom immediately became the family healer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She always knew what to do when my brothers and I were sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thought she possessed special powers when she gently placed the back of her hand on my forehead and proclaimed I had a fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She was usually right. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Her instant cure for a cold or cough was slathering Vicks Vapor Rub on my chest at bedtime, followed by a hot cloth pinned to my pajama top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The following morning, I was miraculously fever and cough free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Without question, my mom was an encourager and a positive force in my life. And she proved to be an experienced “medicine woman” time and time again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Now, more than ever, I would give anything to hear her soothing words and feel the soft touch of her hand on my forehead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">You see, exactly one month ago, on Friday, April 11, my dedicated <b>oncologist, Dr. Issam Makhoul</b>, looked me in the eye and told me that the cancer had returned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One day earlier, I had a follow-up <b>PET scan</b> that revealed a small spot on each lung, my liver and my pelvis. Needless to say, I was stunned at the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In two short months, the one centimeter spot that was evident on my right lung had quickly advanced to other organs, as well as my lymph nodes. The official diagnosis?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><b>Stage IV metastatic breast cancer</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was apparent that Don, my significant other and a physician himself, and Dr. Mak were expecting me to show some type of emotion after hearing the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could barely breathe let alone cry or kick the trash can across the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, I told Dr. Mak that we needed to get a plan in place and get the show on the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I knew that if I took too long to think about what I was facing, I might curl up in a ball on the floor and sob uncontrollably. So, I had no choice but to be the aggressor in this situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Mak explained that there are more than a dozen types of traditional, <b>intravenous chemotherapy</b> and a few oral drugs&nbsp;that we could try and shared the pros and cons of each one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Ultimately, he left the choice up to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I decided to start with an oral drug called <b>Xeloda</b> that requires me to take three, 500 mg. tablets twice a day for two weeks, then I would have one week off to give my body a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Mak was pleased with my choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition to the Xeloda, he prescribed a monthly dose of <b>Zometa</b> to be given intravenously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since there are signs of cancer in my pelvis, the drug will help strengthen my bones. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">According to Dr. Mak, the most common side effects of the oral chemo are diarrhea, which can become severe, bone and muscle aches, and a condition called “hand and foot” syndrome that can cause the palms of the hands and soles of the feet to become irritated and painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The good doctor smiled and looked at me when he said the drug seldom causes hair loss. His declaration made me laugh because it was the only bright spot in an otherwise crappy day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Mak rolled his desk stool in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He looked at me and said, “Young lady, there are two kinds of Stage IV cancer; the good kind and the bad kind and you have the good kind.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He suggested that we would see how I tolerated the oral chemo and, after three months, another PET scan would be ordered to see how the spots were reacting to the chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Depending on the results, we would continue with the same drug or try a combination of other chemotherapy until something puts me into remission. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don and I asked questions of Dr. Mak for nearly an hour on that fateful afternoon. During that time, Dr. Mak made one statement that will ring in my ears for years (I hope) to come.<br />&nbsp;</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Our goal is to keep trying different drug combinations that will keep you alive for at least five or six years, and hopefully, by that time there will be a new drug or treatment that could extend your life for another 20 years.” Even though his comment was honest, compassionate and encouraging, it was at that moment I realized how serious my condition is and that I could die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Talk about a sobering moment!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As Don and I prepared to leave the office, Dr. Mak handed me a prescription for the Xeloda to be filled the following Monday at the <b>UAMS pharmacy</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition, he wrote the order for the Zometa to be administered intravenously in the comfort of my old hang-out - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Infusion 1 at UAMS, where I would no doubt see familiar RNs, like Mr. Nurse Ratched and Sweet Cassie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don and I said little on the way home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He was still waiting for me to show some sign of emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It never happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, he could see the determination in my eyes and hear the confidence in my voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My only thoughts were that cancer is NOT going to win this battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The following two days were tough.&nbsp; I spent a lot of time contacting family members and close friends, sharing the latest diagnosis with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Stage IV cancer doesn’t roll off the tongue easily, but I learned to say it with optimism, rather than gloom and doom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The most difficult calls I made were to my brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I shared the results of the PET scan with them via a phone call, the pauses in the conversation were deafening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Throughout my journey this past year, my family has been my strength, my courage and my inspiration. I have no doubt that&nbsp;they will continue to be during this next hurdle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When Monday, April 14, finally rolled around, I was actually excited and ready to implement the plan. Ironically, this was the day I was to have my reconstruction surgery.&nbsp; Instead, I was on the chemo&nbsp;trail again, battling to be cancer free, a requirement before the surgery can be rescheduled.&nbsp;</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I dropped the prescription off at the UAMS pharmacy and walked around the corner to Infusion 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The tech escorted me to a recliner and I settled in for the 15-minute infusion of Zometa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sweet Cassie, one of my favorite RNs,&nbsp;immediately made her way to my chair and was almost tearful when she saw me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Let’s kick some butt,” she said, which was exactly what I needed to hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, I returned to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription. The pharmacist asked if I had ever taken the drug before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I shook my head “no.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“It’s a great drug,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“And it ought to be; it costs $7,000 a month.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was having trouble wrapping my brain around what she had just told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If I wasn’t dealing with a life and death situation, I would have gotten on my political soap box and ranted that no drug should ever cost that much money, especially in this country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, I grabbed my sack of gold, thanked the good Lord that I had insurance, and headed for the house where I prepared to take my first dose.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After&nbsp;the first&nbsp;week of Xeloda, I had few, if any, noticeable side effects, which concerned Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In his mind, he thinks the chemo isn’t working unless there are side effects. At the beginning of week two, the diarrhea set in, as did the achy bones and muscles; however, it wasn’t unbearable, just uncomfortable. When I shared my symptoms with Don, he cheered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Before I had time to think about it, I flipped him the bird, which instantly made me feel better.</div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am now in my second, two-week cycle of the drug and, so far, there have been no signs of the “hand and foot” syndrome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>However, the diarrhea has intensified as has the muscle pain, but it’s a small price to pay if the drug is killing the cancer cells. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I battle cancer for the second time in one year, I often think about my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She dealt with numerous broken bones and hips later in her life and not even during those circumstances did my brothers or I hear her complain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She would often tell me that when life hands you lemons, you just make lemonade. And, that’s just what she did… time and time again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; Like mother, like daughter.&nbsp; </span>Her strategy is now my strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Lemonade, anyone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-7531281996651342382014-04-01T23:25:00.001-05:002014-04-01T23:25:27.054-05:00Never Stop Praying<div class="MsoNormal">Several months have passed since my last post, which was the first week of the New Year.&nbsp; If my chemo-brain remembers correctly, I was still enjoying the afterglow of being pronounced <b>cancer free</b>, a feat that wouldn't have been possible without my family and friends encouraging me through months of chemotherapy and life changing surgery last fall. It is now officially spring, the time of year when Mother Nature and Old Man Winter traditionally engage in an atmospheric tug-of-war.&nbsp; My fellow Arkansans understand exactly what I mean…sleet and freezing rain one day and 72 degrees the next.&nbsp; Life can be just as unpredictable.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">On January 21, I met with <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg,</b> my breast surgeon extraordinaire.&nbsp; It had been more than 90 days since she performed the <b>bilateral mastectomy </b>and it was time to check her handiwork now that the swelling and discoloration had subsided.&nbsp; She entered the small cubicle and seemed glad to see me… or maybe it was just my chest, sans breasts, she was anxious to scrutinize.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dr. Klimberg gave me a quick hug then immediately opened the cape-like gown that was wrapped around my shoulders.&nbsp; She began pushing on my numb nipples that she had skillfully moved and stitched to my surgically-designed “flaps” in preparation for the breast reconstruction that would soon take place.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“They look really good,” she stated as she continued to push and probe on the old girls.&nbsp; There was a time when Dr. Klimberg and the other surgeon in my life, Don, were concerned that my nipples might not survive the trauma of being relocated and sutured to my skin.&nbsp; She reassured me that all was going to be okay because my nipples were officially “in the pink.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Emotionally, I was pleased with her prognosis but a little nervous when she informed me that I didn't have to see her again for one year unless her colleague, <b>plastic surgeon Dr. James Yuen,</b> “screws something up.”&nbsp; I laughed out loud.&nbsp; It was a vintage Suzanne Klimberg remark.&nbsp; “What could he possibly screw up?” I asked the good doctor between giggles. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt;">She assured me that Dr. Yuen is a phenomenal plastic and reconstructive surgeon - probably one of the best in the country.</span> &nbsp;<span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt;">He’s also chief of the<b> plastic and reconstruction surgery division at UAMS</b>, which speaks volumes about his skill and experience.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal">“You won’t even be able to tell where he tattoos your new breasts,” she said laughing as she opened my cape one last time to look at what was left of my ta-tas.&nbsp; Tattoos?&nbsp; Surely she was kidding.&nbsp; I love that woman.&nbsp; Her humor and skill with a scalpel made my destiny with breast cancer a tolerable experience. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">A few days later, I was scheduled to see my <b>oncologist, Dr. Issam Makhoul,</b> for a follow-up.&nbsp; Don and I waited nearly two hours before we were called back to see him. When you are fortunate enough to have Dr. Makhoul on your team of physicians, you learn quickly not to complain about the wait.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When Dr. Makhoul came into the exam cubicle, he inquired if I was experiencing any lingering side effects since completing treatment last September. Many people might think that once <b>chemotherapy</b> is over, patients no longer have aches and pains.&nbsp; Not so!&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul warned me to expect various issues for up to two years after the last dose of toxins.&nbsp; In my case, I continue to have ongoing <b>digestive issues, joint pain</b> and two new problems – <b>carpal tunnel syndrome</b> and <b>tendonitis</b> in both wrists and elbows.&nbsp; My wrists ache badly during the night and become numb, which disturbs sleep.&nbsp; I have started wearing splints but it doesn’t help much.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul said based on other cases the pain and numbness would probably improve over time.&nbsp; There is no question that chemotherapy can save lives; however, it comes with consequences. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Due to my ongoing <b>colon issues,</b> Dr. Makhoul scheduled a colonoscopy for me at UAMS on January 29 to make sure there were no signs of cancer.&nbsp; In addition, he recommended that I have a PET scan, which is customary three to four months after chemotherapy and for several years, thereafter. &nbsp;He requested that I make another appointment with him on February 11 to receive the results of both tests.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Don and I met with Dr. Yuen a few days after seeing Dr. Makhoul.&nbsp; Our goal was to set a date for the reconstruction surgery.&nbsp; &nbsp;I had only met with Dr. Yuen one other time and had forgotten how different his personality is from that of Dr. Klimberg or Dr. Makhoul.&nbsp; He is very focused, doesn’t make casual conversation and asks few questions. &nbsp;<i><u><o:p></o:p></u></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When Dr. Yuen entered the exam room, he took a quick glance under my gown at the blank canvass Dr. Klimberg left for him to craft a Michelangelo-like masterpiece. His work would involve implanting expanders underneath each “flap,” which might also include a little structural engineering to support his creation. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“She did a nice job,” Dr. Yuen said while poking and prodding the deep cavity where my breasts used to be. “Well, just don’t screw it up.” I thought to myself remembering my humorous exchange with Dr. Klimberg a few weeks earlier. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“What size were your breasts before the surgery?” he asked.&nbsp; Don immediately responded, “Just perfect.” &nbsp;But Dr. No-Nonsense didn’t appear to be amused.&nbsp; I reminded myself that this guy was going to be a tough audience. He continued with the same line of questioning and inquired if I wanted to remain the same size. “Maybe,” I told him, “but I would like to shop around, first.&nbsp; Do you have a catalogue?” Finally, a smile appeared on his face.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l-GN1kSYkI/UzuPrbod1dI/AAAAAAAAAKw/jaIGk0_SlmM/s1600/Ta-Ta-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l-GN1kSYkI/UzuPrbod1dI/AAAAAAAAAKw/jaIGk0_SlmM/s1600/Ta-Ta-3.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla leading a breast cancer fundraiser at the Arkansas<br />Governor's Conference on Tourism, 2014.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal">With calendar in-hand, Dr. No-Nonsense asked when I would like to schedule the reconstruction surgery.&nbsp; As dates crossed my mind, I realized there was no way I could have surgery until after the annual Arkansas Governor’s Conference on Tourism – a state-wide event that I am responsible for planning and executing in early March.&nbsp; Then Don piped up and blurted out, “After Derby Day – April 12.” &nbsp;Don and I haven’t missed the final day of live thoroughbred racing at Oaklawn Race Track in nearby <st1:place w:st="on">Hot Springs</st1:place>in more than seven years. Without hesitation, Dr. No-Nonsense reserved Monday, April 14, for my surgery. I was thrilled.&nbsp; It had been a long journey up to this point and I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dr. Yuen instructed me to report to UAMS for blood work on April 10.&nbsp; He told me the surgery would take approximately five hours and to expect an overnight stay in the hospital.&nbsp; He warned me that the pesky drains would once again be a part of my attire for about ten days following the surgery.&nbsp; Oh, goody.&nbsp; The drains…&nbsp; $%*7&amp;@#. &nbsp;And just like that Dr. No-Nonsense left the exam room.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Over the next two weeks, I had the colonoscopy, followed by the PET scan.&nbsp; Both were uneventful.&nbsp; Don and I met with Dr. Makhoul on February 11 for the results of the tests.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul was busier than usual and seemed a tad bit harried when he entered the room.&nbsp; He immediately sat down at the computer and pulled up my chart.&nbsp; He indicated that the colonoscopy was clear and there was nothing to worry about, which was a great relief.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl0r7JHBg5w/UzuQMJQTBkI/AAAAAAAAAK4/6WIei8TQVUc/s1600/A_McCarthy__031014_0064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl0r7JHBg5w/UzuQMJQTBkI/AAAAAAAAAK4/6WIei8TQVUc/s1600/A_McCarthy__031014_0064.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: start;">Marla with Andrew McCarthy, actor, director, and award<br />winning travel writer, at the Arkansas Governor's Conference<br />on tourism 2014.</td></tr></tbody></table>Next, he pulled up the PET scan report.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul very matter-of-factly told me that there was a one centimeter spot on the stem of my right lung.&nbsp; At that very moment, one touch of a bird’s feather would have knocked me to my knees.&nbsp; Don and I just looked at each other.&nbsp; Neither of us could talk. We were stunned at what Dr. Makhoul was telling us. Before I could collect my thoughts and ask questions, Dr. Makhoul immediately cautioned me not to jump to any conclusions.&nbsp; He said the spot was more than likely scar tissue from a recent bronchil infection.&nbsp; From your lips to God’s ears, I whispered under my breath.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Don informed Dr. Makhoul that the reconstruction surgery was scheduled for April 14.&nbsp; I was still speechless.&nbsp; Dr. Makhoul quickly put a game plan together.&nbsp; He ordered a second PET scan to be performed the week before the surgery. If the spot shows any increase in size or shape, the surgery will be cancelled and a biopsy performed.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Before Don and I left the exam room, Dr. Makhoul made me promise not to worry about the result of the scan.&nbsp; “I have seen this hundreds of times,” he said reassuringly, “and it usually turns out to be nothing.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Don and I didn’t say much to each other after we left Dr. Makhoul’s office.&nbsp; I could tell he was alarmed; it was written all over his face.&nbsp; <i>&nbsp;</i>I asked him to be straight with me and share his thoughts.&nbsp; Don didn’t deny that the location of the spot on my lung was his biggest concern. I appreciated his candor.&nbsp; That’s why I am so grateful that Don is not only my loving companion, but he’s a great medical sounding board, as well.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Needless to say, there is a proverbial elephant in the middle of the room, and it will continue to be until Don and I see Dr. Makhoul again on April 11 for the outcome of the second PET scan.&nbsp; Whether or not I have reconstruction surgery on April 14 is still to be determined and an example of why cancer survivors <b>never stop praying,</b> nor should their friends and family members.&nbsp;<br /><br />Ironically, it was about this same time last year when my life changed forever.&nbsp; I learned quickly that prayer is about the only thing that can move that elephant from the room. Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-72498465082264307612014-01-03T08:30:00.000-06:002014-04-01T08:19:10.576-05:002013 - A Retrospective<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IcdERIin9EE/UsbH0XIrBQI/AAAAAAAAAKY/iN-Eh3Ssi_M/s1600/Marla's+New+Hair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, UAMS, Little Rock, Arkansas, breast cancer survivor" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IcdERIin9EE/UsbH0XIrBQI/AAAAAAAAAKY/iN-Eh3Ssi_M/s320/Marla's+New+Hair.JPG" height="320" title="Marla Crider | New Hair | Breast Cancer Survivor" width="229" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla's new hair</td></tr></tbody></table>It’s a new year; however, I can’t help but reflect on the past twelve months, and why wouldn’t I? After all, the past eight months have been like no other in my life.<br /><div class="Section1"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />A friend asked me recently if 2013 had been the worst year of my life. I thought about her question for a moment then responded that it had not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Needless to say, she was rather surprised by my answer. <br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yes, it is true that I was <b>diagnosed</b> with <b>stage 3, triple negative breast cancer</b> in May, resulting in four-and-a-half months of <b>chemotherapy</b> and a <b>bilateral mastectomy</b> in October. Was I frightened when the doctors confirmed my diagnosis?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Was I apprehensive during the chemo treatments?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Absolutely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Did I experience <b>side effect</b>s and <b>complications</b> from the drugs that were prescribed to cure me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yes, and then some. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Was I emotionally prepared to have “the girls” surgically removed in exchange for an extended life?<br /><br />Uhhhh, does a bear s--- in the woods?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>So, why in heaven's name was 2013 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> the worst year of my life? Simple. I learned to express love more freely, complain less, forgive easily, show compassion, and pray daily. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Instead of adopting a “why me” attitude when doctors confirmed I had cancer, I chose to embrace the disease, which lead to a candid self-evaluation and a more tolerant view of life in general. I like to think that I’m a softer, gentler version of myself. <br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I was diagnosed with the “Big C,” I never expected to become a lifetime member of a sisterhood comprised of <b>breast cancer survivors</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Unfortunately, this sorority has far too many members, but I have learned that my new comrades are determined, strong-willed women with a common mission:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>to support each other and offer guidance and shared experiences when asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I am grateful to my “sisters” for their honesty when I was unsure of what to expect during the treatment process and their words of encouragement when I became anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As a new member of the sisterhood, I plan to be a sounding board for other women who may find themselves walking down a similar path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Together, we are all stronger, and together, we can conquer this insidious disease.<br /><br /></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div>Breast cancer is not a death sentence, but it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will </i>change the survivor’s life forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The mind and body are always on alert and tend to overreact to routine aches, pains and any unusual responses to normal stimuli. No matter how hard we try not to, we can’t help but wonder if the cancer has returned. Perhaps, in five or ten years without a re-occurrence, we survivors can live a normal life void of fear and angst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I look forward to those days.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Over the past few months, I have realized that some of the effects of the <b>chemotherapy</b> are still with me, reminding me of my journey and that it isn't over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sometimes, it’s the small things I notice, like my <b>fingernails</b> that have yet to grow back. They are still stubby and split easily. In addition, my left <b>knee and both hips ache</b> frequently – a post-chemo ailment that occasionally limits my ability to rise from the couch or a chair. And I continue to have <b>digestive issues</b> that will require further investigation later in January. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few friends were concerned that my long, thick eyelashes would grow back shorter and thinner, but I’m happy to report that hasn't been the case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My green “cat eyes” are once again surrounded by an abundance of black lashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And my eyebrows are so thick that I recently had to have them shaped up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What I wasn't expecting after the chemotherapy was a growth of very light peach fuzz on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, it isn't noticeable unless someone is in my personal space, which isn't recommended if the person values his/her appendages.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--No-F2bfeSo/UsbIRpgSO1I/AAAAAAAAAKk/sQjPF4MjYB8/s1600/Marla+and+Coco+on+New+Year%2527s+Day.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--No-F2bfeSo/UsbIRpgSO1I/AAAAAAAAAKk/sQjPF4MjYB8/s320/Marla+and+Coco+on+New+Year%2527s+Day.JPG" height="320" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla on New Year's Day 2014 with her <br />new friend, Coco Chanel</td></tr></tbody></table>Pre-chemotherapy, I was blessed with a thick mane of dark brown hair peppered with grey streaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Three months after my last treatment, my inch-and-a-half-long locks are mostly silver and very curly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>At birth, I inherited my mom’s dark brown tresses but the new growth is very similar to my brothers’ salt and pepper hair that was once coal black, a trait from our Cherokee genes. For the first time in my sixty years, my brothers and I share the same hair color and style – beguilingly silver and closely cropped. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It’s too early to tell if my “fifty shades of grey” are permanent or temporary, but we should know for sure in a few more months.</div><br />It is no surprise that the new year will continue to be filled with <b>oncology</b> check-ups, PET scans and appointments with my <b>plastic surgeon</b>, Dr. Yuen.&nbsp; It is anticipated that the reconstruction procedure will be scheduled in late March or early April, which will be confirmed when I meet with the surgeon on January 14.&nbsp; The journey continues.....<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was in&nbsp;the early hours of New Year’s Day when I&nbsp;heard the nearby church bells ringing as I watched my new feline companion, Coco Chanel, play with her ball of yarn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was at that very moment when&nbsp;I experienced&nbsp;a feeling of contentment - an&nbsp;emotion&nbsp;that evaded me for&nbsp;months - and hopefulness that 2014 would be a healthy year not only for me but for my friends and loved ones, as well.&nbsp; </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Cheers to the New Year.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com2Little Rock, AR, USA34.7464809 -92.28959479999997534.5376689 -92.61231829999997 34.9552929 -91.96687129999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-10613482936881845532013-12-10T19:44:00.003-06:002013-12-11T07:59:23.636-06:00Cancer Free - Yippee!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kSsKF8yMJ_Y/UqfCzxQ1NLI/AAAAAAAAAKA/63hbAnwgQIo/s1600/Coco+and+Me.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, UAMS, breast cancer, invasive ductal carcinoma" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kSsKF8yMJ_Y/UqfCzxQ1NLI/AAAAAAAAAKA/63hbAnwgQIo/s320/Coco+and+Me.JPG" title="Marla Crider: Cancer Free!" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider with her new friend, <br />Ms. Coco Chanel</td></tr></tbody></table>Thanksgiving has come and gone, and December has made an entrance like a confused lion –<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">70-degree temperatures one day, and 28 degrees the next with sleet and snow. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Oddly, the Thanksgiving holiday continues to be front-of-mind nearly two weeks after the fact, rather than the ever-present Christmas season. Never has “turkey day” meant so much to me than it did this year – the year in which I endured a <b>breast</b> <b>cancer</b> diagnosis, 4 ½ months of <b>chemotherapy</b>, and a <b>double mastectomy</b>. Instead of just once a year, which seems to be the custom for all of us, I now give thanks everyday for my blessed, cancer free prognosis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was fortunate enough to spend Thanksgiving this year with my family in northwest <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:place></st1:state>, where more than a dozen loved ones gathered to express their own blessings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>A few months ago, my nephew, Lane, and I talked when he was in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:place></st1:city>on business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I mentioned to him that my mom, Happy, made me promise to never let the Crider family holiday dinners become a thing of the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since her death in 2006, we had all been lax in gathering to share our lives, especially me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Between my job responsibilities and sharing holidays with Don and his family in <st1:city w:st="on">Dallas</st1:city>, I hadn't pushed to spend equal time with the Crider clan in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fayetteville</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No longer will that be the case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Had it not been for the amazing support and physical presence of my brothers and sisters-in-law during my health crisis, I’m not sure my recovery would have been nearly as successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I encourage my friends and colleagues to never, ever take for granted the family bond that could mean the difference in sickness and good health, or even life and death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I know from whereof I speak.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On October 11, my breast cancer was eradicated, when my rock star <b>surgeon, Suzanne Klimberg</b>, strategically removed the diseased tissue from the right breast, and as a precaution, the left breast tissue was removed, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After only 24 hours in the hospital, I recuperated at home with the help of my physician mate, Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">For more than a week following surgery, I managed to maneuver around the condo with the bulky drain tubes attached by a single stitch under each arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Showering was especially challenging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had minimal arm movement; therefore, I had to have assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Trust me when I say that romance and intimacy are not emotions you think about when you have a partner in the shower with you under these circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was an awkward and frustrating experience that was, fortunately, short-lived. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">About a week after the surgery, Dr. Klimberg called me with the pathology report. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>My heart raced as she began sharing the results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She explained there were a number of “hot” spots found in the right breast tissue that&nbsp;were only weeks, if not days, away from turning into full blown cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That was the bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The good news was that the sentinel node dye test conducted during the surgery indicated&nbsp;the cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes or other parts of the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Praise the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, the left breast showed no signs of cancer, whatsoever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before we concluded our phone conversation, Dr. Klimberg said she and the director of the genetics department at <b>UAMS </b>had conferred and they both agreed that I needed a genetics work up because the pathology report confirmed the dreaded <b>triple negative diagnosis</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since the type of cancer I had was aggressive with no known drug available to deter a reoccurrence, it's important to find out how&nbsp;my cancer diagnosis&nbsp;might affect my family members. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>According to Dr. Klimberg, the type of cancer I had could mean my brothers and nephews might be at risk for prostate and colon cancer, while my great nieces could inherit the gene that caused&nbsp;my breast cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The genetic work up would serve as a cautionary road map for my family to review and share with their own doctors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It should be noted that only 15% of women diagnosed with cancer are triple negative. The majority of women with cancer are in the hormone receptive category. These women are prescribed drugs, such as Tamoxifen, to be taken for years after chemotherapy and/or surgery as a means to disrupt another episode of cancer.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Ten days after my surgery, I returned to <b>UAMS</b> for a follow-up visit to have the drain tubes removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since Dr. Klimberg was in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1:place> attending a breast cancer conference, her resident, Dr. Tummel, had the chore of cutting the stitches holding the tubes in place. The left tube had dislodged from its original internal placement during the surgery and hurt like the dickens when he pulled it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, there was no problem removing the right tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I suddenly felt as free as a bird without the drain tubes and plastic receptacles attached to my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I was almost giddy with excitement to move my arms – ever so slightly - without restrictions. Dr. Tummel carefully examined the surgical incisions and said everything looked good, including my very swollen and dark nipples that Dr. Klimberg surgically re-positioned in anticipation of the forthcoming reconstruction procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Don had mentioned to me that he was concerned the right nipple “may not make it” because it appeared to have restricted blood flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After everything I had been through, there was no way I was going to tolerate even the thought that my nipple was going to reject being moved and stitched into its new location.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Tummel was more positive and thought it might take longer to heal&nbsp;but the nipple would survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Another appointment was made for me to see Dr. Klimberg the following week.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That night, I was anxious to try sleeping on my drain-free side, but I couldn't.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was still too much swelling and pain when I tried to roll over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Apparently, if and when I slept, it would have to be on my back, which ached constantly from the surgery, as well as my inability to take the pressure off of it when in a horizontal position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was another five days before I could roll onto my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few days later, I had an appointment to see my <b>oncologist, Dr. Makhoul</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While I trust him implicitly, I was rather apprehensive about seeing him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He stated during the last appointment that another round of chemotherapy might be in order, depending on the findings of the post-surgery pathology report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When Dr. Makhoul entered the exam room, we greeted each other with an affectionate “long time, no see” hand shake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He immediately logged on to the computer and pulled up my file.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He quietly read through the pathology findings, which seemed like an eternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Finally, he turned to face me and said he was comfortable with the report and “at this time” did not recommend further treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What a relief!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He scheduled a follow-up PET scan in February to confirm there were no hot spots in other parts of my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But prior to the scan, he requested I have a colonoscopy because I was still experiencing digestive issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul mentioned the questionable spot on the colon that was identified on the first PET scan performed months earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He was an amazing doctor and I was his patient and would do whatever he suggested.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Two weeks and two days after my surgery, I was cleared to drive and was provided a written release from Dr. Klimberg to return to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My colleagues seemed surprised to see me; after all, it had only been a couple of weeks since I had undergone major surgery. Never the less, I was glad to see them and more than ready to get back into a routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On the second day of my return to work, I was scheduled to see Dr. Klimberg again, this time to have the stitches removed. I was anxious to be one step closer to normalcy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When my surgeon strolled into the exam room, we quickly began bantering with each other, which had become a habit with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She was anxious to review her surgical handiwork and see how I was healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She poked and prodded where my breasts used to be and took a closer look at both nipples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She was pleased with how the left one was looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The right nipple still gave her reason for pause but was not so concerning that she thought it would have to be removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She told me to dab antibiotic ointment on both nipples to keep them soft and free of infection. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It would also help them slough off the dead skin, which was the reason they appeared dark and “dead.”</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The good doctor and I chatted up a storm as she removed the stitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;It was&nbsp;a good thing that</span>&nbsp;I was still numb from the surgery and couldn't feel her digging around in the incisions in search for stray threads. While we were talking, I asked Dr. Klimberg when she wanted me to make an appointment&nbsp;to see&nbsp;<b>Dr.Yuen</b>, the <b>plastic surgeon</b> who would reconstruct my breasts in a few months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She determined that I should see him on the same day that I see her again – January 14.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She wanted me to completely heal before Dr. Yuen had a chance to&nbsp;scrutinize her work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Without saying so, she was still annoyed with him for not considering doing the reconstruction while I was already on the operating table, which is the routine for most non-diabetic patients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The longer the surgery is delayed, the more likely there will be skin wrinkling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even though Dr. Klimberg performed a new technique to prevent that type of result, she was still concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She wanted&nbsp;Dr. Yuen&nbsp;“to get on with it.” I’m not sure who is looking forward to the forthcoming appointment with Dr. Yuen more – Dr. Klimberg or me.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GceHU1YYqhA/UqfDa2EEifI/AAAAAAAAAKI/c_R_ySyhiiM/s1600/Coco+Chanel=120113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GceHU1YYqhA/UqfDa2EEifI/AAAAAAAAAKI/c_R_ySyhiiM/s200/Coco+Chanel=120113.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Coco Chanel</td></tr></tbody></table>Since the surgery and recuperation had gone so well, I decided that I deserved a treat – a new kitty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Having to put down my 22 year-old pet, Ms. Fluffy, the day after my first chemo treatment was, perhaps, the most difficult part of my cancer journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was time to bring a new furry friend into my life. The Sunday after Thanksgiving, I stopped by PetSmart “just to look” at the adoptable cats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I walked out of the store, I was carrying a sack of cat toys, a new litter box, Purina cat food and Ms. Coco Chanel – an elegantly attired, three year-old female feline with a shiny black coat, fashionable white-tipped paws and piercing green eyes… just like her new mom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>We bonded immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;It has been one week since her</span> adoption and there is no question that she was meant to be. </div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-9459522437743119762013-11-05T16:15:00.000-06:002013-11-05T16:15:46.063-06:00The Surgery: It Takes a VillageWhen I awoke on the morning of October 11, I was surprisingly calm and ready for what the day would bring.&nbsp; My brother and sister-in-law, Marion and Carolyn, had driven from <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place>the day before and spent the night with me.&nbsp; Their presence provided me with much needed emotional support as I prepared for life-changing surgery.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFw_UMYkxe8/Unlsi6Ub1II/AAAAAAAAAJg/dFvL3aXCLVU/s1600/Marla+with+Drains-1+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, mastectomy, surgery, UAMS, Little Rock, Klimberg" border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFw_UMYkxe8/Unlsi6Ub1II/AAAAAAAAAJg/dFvL3aXCLVU/s320/Marla+with+Drains-1+(1).JPG" title="Marla Crider: Post-Mastectomy Surgery" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider, post-mastectomy surgery.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Even though the <b>mastectomy</b> procedure was scheduled on my older brother Mike’s birthday, he and my sister-in-law, Barbara, made the trip from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Springdale</st1:place></st1:city>to be with me, just as they had done when I had <b>chemo treatments</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They met Don, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city>, Carolyn and me at my condo about thirty minutes before we were to all depart for <b>UAMS</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As we sat in my great room talking and laughing, I looked around me and became a little misty-eyed. I knew my parents were observing from heaven and proud that their sons were still looking after their baby sister. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We left the condo at 9 a.m. in order to find the visitor parking deck and patient registration area at the med center’s main hospital before my assigned check-in time of 9:30 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, living only10 minutes from the <b><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:placename></st1:place>for Medical Sciences</b> campus allowed us plenty of time to find our way. Don and I departed in his vehicle and my brothers followed in theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We were given directions of where to park by a nurse the previous day; however, it should have been a red flag when she used the term “loop-de-loop” in the details. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When we approached said “loop-de-loop,” we learned quickly that it was an employee only parking deck with no access.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There we were in a three-car caravan all trying to back-up and figure out what to do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Then, my sister-in-law saw a sign that suggested we go further up the drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sure enough, there was the second “loop-de-loop.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Who designs a double-looped entry into a parking deck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Aren’t they confusing enough without making it worse? It was now 9:25 a.m. We made our way into the deck and searched for parking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We lost Mike and Barbara somewhere in the parking garage and decided they were on their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We located two parking spaces in close proximity to each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Our next challenge was to find elevator B that would take us to the patient registration area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Don, Marion, Carolyn and I wandered around the loop-de-loop, or should I say “blankety blank” parking garage and finally located the elevator by accident.&nbsp;Just as we stepped inside, my cell phone rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I recognized the number as the UAMS exchange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the pre-op nurse wanting to know where I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Lost,” I said with an exasperated tone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She tried to instruct us where to go but the elevator doors closed, which disconnected the call. It took us another five minutes but we finally found our destination. A few minutes later Mike and Barbara appeared and reported that they&nbsp;would never find their vehicle again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After filling out the obligatory paperwork, I was escorted to the pre-op area and taken to a prep room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My assigned RN gave me a gown, circulation stockings, no-slip socks and an elasticized cap to put on in preparation for the surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I disrobed and looked at my reflection in the glass of a medical equipment cabinet, I couldn’t help but stare at my breasts one last time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I wasn’t really sad, just relieved that phase two of my wellness plan was about to get underway. I bid “the girls” good-bye and finished dressing in my surgical attire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse returned and started taking my vital signs then gave me a small dispensing cup with a pill in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She explained that it was a <b>marisol capsule</b> – marijuana – that would help me relax and eliminate post-surgery nausea. Hmmmm. Marijuana in a red capsule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I wondered if I would have a case of the munchies when I woke up&nbsp;after the&nbsp;surgery.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The nurse beckoned my family from the waiting area and told them they could see me before I was moved to surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My brothers, their wives and Don were in the small room along with my pre-op nurse and the nurse anesthetist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The door opened and <b>Dr. Klimberg</b> entered. She looked a little surprised to see so many people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Before I could introduce her to my family, she immediately acknowledged them, introduced herself and then walked to my bedside.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“What’s your name and what are we doing to you today,” she asked with her typical dry wit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Very funny,” I responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She smiled, patted me on the arm and told my family they would take good care of me. At that very moment my vision began to blur and I&nbsp;couldn't stop smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the marisol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One by one, my family and Don kissed me on the forehead and returned to the waiting room where they would spend the next four hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The pre-op team transported me to the operating room as I struggled to focus on what they were saying. The marisol pill had really affected my senses. I saw a clock on the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was 10:50 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the last thing I remembered.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was desperately trying to open my eyes when I heard a voice ask if I was in pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“I’m hurting,” I responded in a whisper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“I’m going to give you some morphine before we move you to your room,” the post-op nurse said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, five people were lifting me from the gurney to the hospital bed in my assigned room, trying with all their might not to cause me any additional discomfort because the morphine had yet to kick-in. A certified nurse’s assistant (CNA) quickly placed pillows under each forearm, which helped alleviate some of the pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She raised the head of the bed so that I was in an upright position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The clock on the wall showed 5:20 p.m. What a long day for my family, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About that time, Don, Marion and Carolyn entered the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I didn’t see Mike and Barbara. I assumed they were searching for their car. <st1:city w:st="on">Marion</st1:city>explained that after Dr. Klimberg came out of surgery to give them an update, Mike and Barbara drove back to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Springdale</st1:place></st1:city>for Mike’s birthday celebration with their kids and grandchildren. I was glad his special day wasn’t totally upstaged by my surgery.<o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I could smell food in my vicinity, which made my hunger pains even more severe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yep, I had the munchies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There were no symptoms of nausea, which cleared the way for me to receive a food tray. I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours. Since I couldn’t move my arms, Carolyn fed me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Dinner was a lemon pepper chicken breast and rice and it was yummy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dessert was sugar-free, cherry Jell-O.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I kept telling Carolyn it was the best I had ever had.&nbsp; It must have&nbsp;been the marisol talking.&nbsp;</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The next 12 hours were filled with the medical team taking vital signs, monitoring my blood sugar and dispensing medications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was some concern because my blood sugar registered 250 and it should have been somewhere between 80 and 120, which is normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Klimberg left orders to give me several units of insulin to bring it down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The RN noted that the glucose&nbsp;included with&nbsp;my intravenous meds was probably the culprit for the high reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P02FSt9cn_s/UnltSEqd_OI/AAAAAAAAAJo/bTkIkeTnO8s/s1600/Image-Breast+Drains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="UAMS, breast cancer, Little Rock, mastectomy, surgery, recovery" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P02FSt9cn_s/UnltSEqd_OI/AAAAAAAAAJo/bTkIkeTnO8s/s1600/Image-Breast+Drains.jpg" title="Marla Crider: Bilateral Mastectomy: Drains: Illustration" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Illustration showing how drains<br />are inserted post-surgery.</td></tr></tbody></table>Marion, Carolyn and Don agreed that Don would spend the night in the room with me should I need assistance.&nbsp; They planned to&nbsp;return early the following morning to relieve him. Don didn’t get much rest because I was monitored every two hours throughout the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s when I realized that the RN was checking fluid in bottles – one on each side of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As the anesthesia began to clear my brain, it dawned on me that the bottles were the infamous drains that I had heard so much about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The plastic bottles had measuring units on them to determine how much blood and serum was draining from my breast cavities.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;At one point, w</span>hen I tried to adjust myself in the hospital bed, I felt a pull on my side and asked Don about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He explained that it was the drain tubes that were inserted and stitched under each arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At 4:30 a.m., the CNA came in and had been instructed to remove my catheter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>At 4:30 in the morning?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After the task was completed, I was told to ring the nurse if I had to pee and someone would assist me to the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>looking forward to getting up considering I couldn’t even lift my arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At 6:30 a.m., I had to make the dreaded call to the nurse and request help to get out of bed for my first post-surgery trip to the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There had been a shift change and a male CNA arrived to help. He coached me to use my legs, rather than my upper body, to change positions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I managed to swing my legs off the side of the bed without using my arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I returned from the bathroom, Don suggested I sit in a chair for a while and rest my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It felt good to sit up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Tummel, the resident who assisted Dr. Klimberg in surgery, was making rounds and stopped by at 6:45 a.m. to check my incisions and the swelling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said everything looked good but he wanted Dr. Klimberg to see me, as well. In the meantime, the RN came in to check my blood sugar; it was 230. He suggested that it was time to remove my intravenous line and the pesky glucose that was escalating my blood sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was thrilled because the needle was making my hand and arm ache. The nurse injected me with two units of insulin to help decreast my sugar levels. My usual daily dose is 32 units.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I didn’t expect there to be much change.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was still sitting in the chair at 7:10 a.m. when my door opened and Dr. Klimberg came in accompanied by Dr. Yuen, the plastic surgeon who will eventually handle&nbsp;my reconstruction surgery. Much to my surprise, five or six med students followed Dr. Yuen into the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Klimberg sat on the edge of the bed and asked if she could show Dr. Yuen the first ever, modified “Breast Over Pants” procedure she did just for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Sure,” I said, “but I thought you couldn’t do the ‘Breast Over Pants’ because my breasts were too small.” </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“You aren't going to let me forget that are you," she asked.&nbsp; I shook my head no. "Well, I did a variation and wanted to show Dr. Yuen since he’s never seen it before,” she responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Both surgeons began pressing on my numb nipples as the med students moved in for a closer look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was definitely a Grey’s Anatomy moment, only Dr. McDreamy wasn’t among the McYoungsters. Dr. Yuen proclaimed that Dr. Klimberg’s skin-saving procedure would allow him to adequately insert the prosthesis without having to make adjustments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was pleased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Klimberg was pleased. And the med students didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before Dr. Klimberg left my room, she reassured me that the surgery went very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She instructed me not to lift, pull or raise my arms above elbow height for the next two weeks. The drains were scheduled to be removed in ten days at her office. She told me she would notify me as soon as she received the pathology report, but it was really good news that the cancer had not infiltrated any lymph nodes, based on the preliminary&nbsp;results during surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I tried to high five her but decided that probably wasn’t a good idea. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After Dr. Klimberg departed, one of the med students returned to my room with camera in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I couldn’t imagine what he was planning to do. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Dr. Klimberg sent me to take a photograph of your chest and her handiwork,” he explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I laughed as I opened my hospital gown for the photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Will my boobless, yet well preserved chest be featured in one of her medical books,” I asked the young student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“Maybe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>You never know with her,” he responded. After two clicks of the lens, the Dr. Klimberg wannabe quickly exited my room. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The RN&nbsp;entered my room and reported that Dr. Klimberg had signed my release orders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was shocked but thrilled that she was going to allow me to go home so soon; however, there was one stipulation. My blood sugar had to drop below 200 before I could leave the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse gave me another 30 units of insulin to help me meet the goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>All we had to do was wait.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">By this time, Marion and Carolyn had arrived to relieve Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They were stunned that I was on the fast track for going home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In anticipation of my departure, Carolyn helped me change out of my hospital gown into leggings that she had to pull up for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Obviously, I didn’t think about my limited arm movement when I packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I brought a tunic for the trip home; however, there was no way we could fasten it over the drain bottles and tubing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had to wear my short robe over the leggings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was ready to go as soon as the nurse rechecked my blood sugar.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Meanwhile, the CNA came into my room with a black apron very similar to a carpenter’s apron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I couldn’t figure out its purpose. The CNA helped me stand up then tied the apron around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She placed the left drain bottle in the left front pocket of the apron and the right one in the right front pocket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It was the perfect solution to a bulky problem. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It had been 90 minutes since I received the 30 units of insulin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse came in and checked my blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was 130.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yippee, I was going home and it was only 10:45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was already a wheelchair waiting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city> left to get his car and planned to pick me up in front of the loop-de-loop. Carolyn gathered my things and walked beside the wheelchair as the CNA took us to the front door. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Getting me into the car was challenging but the marisol pill given to me before my departure from the hospital made it a non-event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;I felt nothing.&nbsp;</span>The short drive&nbsp;home caused me to be slightly nauseous but the pill helped. All I wanted to do was get to my condo and deposit myself in my recliner…and eat a batch of brownies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had another case of the munchies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When we arrived, I managed to maneuver myself out of the car and up&nbsp;the front&nbsp;steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I headed straight for my recliner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>In my marisol and Percocet fog, I reflected on how many people it had taken to get me through chemotherapy, surgery, and now post-surgery recuperation. I thought to myself, it truly does take a village to cure cancer.&nbsp;It was the last thing I remembered for several hours.&nbsp;</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-7605581393941905872013-10-20T20:33:00.000-05:002013-10-20T20:33:28.724-05:00Surgery Pending, So is More Chemo...It was exactly one week before my scheduled <b>bilateral mastectomy</b>.&nbsp; I had been waiting for nearly an hour with more than a dozen other patients at the <b>Winthrop P. Rockefeller Cancer Institute</b> to see <b>Dr. Makhoul</b>, my oncologist, for the results of the recent <b>breast MRI</b>. The good doctor had recently been appointed the new director of oncology at the <b><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:placename></st1:place> for Medical Sciences</b> and was busier than ever. Since being diagnosed with cancer six months earlier, I had learned the virtue of patience and it was a good thing.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don had a conflict and couldn't accompany me to my appointment with Dr. Makhoul, but I was okay with going solo because I felt good about the pending results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After being called to the exam room, I waited anxiously for Dr. Makhoul to enter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A few minutes passed and the door opened, but it wasn’t Dr. Mak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, a new doctor entered the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He introduced himself as an oncology “fellow,” training with Dr. Makhoul. The young Syrian doctor was polite and engaging. I was impressed that he had read my medical history and was prepared to discuss the topic du jour – my breast MRI results. He informed me that the once large tumor now measured 1.6 centimeters by .6 centimeters and the second tumor, which had always been much smaller than the primary mass, appeared to be completely eradicated. I really wasn't sure how to interpret what I had just heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I missed Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The new doctor told me he was going to find Dr. Makhoul and let him answer any questions I might have.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="141" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mT74IWGN2bA" width="250"></iframe> <br /><br />It had been nearly a month since my last visit with Dr. Makhoul and I was actually excited to see him when he breezed into the exam room with his new protégé. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>His jovial, yet soothing tone always worked wonders on those who might be wrestling with fear and uncertainty, like me. He wanted to know how I fared after my last chemo treatment and I told him that I did okay; however, I was thrilled to have the <b>Taxol</b> treatments behind me, because the drug was taking its toll on my weary body. He nodded his head in agreement.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul reviewed my medical file and reiterated the dimensions of the existing tumor. He said it was now a manageable size and my surgeon, <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg</b>, shouldn't have any problems excising the breast tissue.<br /><br />And then he dropped a small bombshell.<br /><br />“Depending on what the pathology report shows after your surgery next week, he said, "I may recommend another round of chemo."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He further explained that my triple negative diagnosis had everything to do with his recommendation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Needless to say, I was having trouble processing what I had just heard but knew it was exactly what needed to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“We won’t make a definite decision until I review the post-surgery pathology reports,” he reminded me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul wished me good luck with my&nbsp;upcoming&nbsp;mastectomy&nbsp;and said he would see me on November 5 to discuss a future treatment plan...if necessary. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I departed the cancer institute, my mind was a whirl with thoughts of surgery and the possibility of more chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That aside, I was prepared to do whatever my medical team suggested to rid my body of cancer, because I had literally placed my life in their healing hands</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">One Day Before Surgery: The Game Plan Changes<o:p></o:p></b></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Less than a week after my appointment with Dr. Makhoul, Don and I reported to Dr. Klimberg’s office to fill out paperwork and consult with my surgeon the day before the scheduled procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Upon arrival at the women’s oncology clinic, Don and I had to search for two chairs together in the overflowing waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I scanned the crowd, I noticed that only a few patients were older than me and was stunned at how many were in their 30s and early 40s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was curious if the recent Angelina Jolie breast surgery phenomena had reached central <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:place></st1:state> and was a reason for seeing so many young women in the clinic. Hopefully, they were there for preventative purposes, as Jolie demonstrated with her decision to have a bilateral mastectomy before she actually had cancer, and not because they had already been diagnosed with breast or gynecological cancer.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My appointment with Dr. Klimberg was scheduled for 11:00 a.m. and&nbsp;we expected a long wait; however, my name was called about 30 minutes later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;We were</span>&nbsp;escorted to a small conference room, where an RN specializing in tissue research counseled me on the benefits of <b>donating my breast tissue</b> post-surgery to <b>UAMS</b> for scientific research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I wholeheartedly agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The fact that the type of cancer I had – <b>triple negative</b> – was found in only 15% of women offered a solid reason for me to participate in current and future research projects. My triple negative diagnosis was starting to weigh heavily on my mind after doing a little online research of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If my tissue could help provide answers or even a vaccine, I was more than happy to help.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After I signed the release forms for the tissue donation, I was moved to an exam room, where I waited for my consultation with Dr. Klimberg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her nurse, Maureen, arrived first and handed me several forms to review about the surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Then Dr. Tummel, a very young associate of Dr. Klimberg, entered the room and conducted a brief breast exam in advance of my surgeon’s arrival. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>In typical Klimberg fashion, the dry-witted doctor made an entrance into the exam room wearing blue scrubs and accompanied by a timid, female intern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Let’s get this show on the road,” she directed her entourage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>One of her first duties was to explain to me all the things that could go wrong during surgery…including death…and handed me a pen to sign the consent form, which I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was given additional forms to complete that would allow Dr. Klimberg and UAMS to use me in a <b>lymphedema research</b> project she is conducting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Lymphedema is defined as arm swelling common in mastectomy patients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was familiar with the problem after observing a former colleague deal with a re-occurrence last year, which was a determining factor in me signing up for the experiment<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>(Thank you, Renee).</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After all the paperwork was in order, Dr. Klimberg pulled a permanent marker from her scrubs and began drawing possible incision lines on each breast as Dr. Tummel and the intern&nbsp;observed over her shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The first mark of significance was where she planned to move my nipples, followed by the “flaps” she would create for the plastic surgeon to insert the implants a few months later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Are you still going to do the procedure you created just for me?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>With her chin nestled between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, she stared at my breasts and responded with a comment I wasn’t expecting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br />“I think your breasts are just too small for me to do the ‘Breast Over Pants’ as planned.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br />I started laughing and told&nbsp;madam surgeon that&nbsp;she is the first woman to ever tell me that I had small breasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“I meant it in a good way,” she said, trying to recover from her comment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Have you lost weight since I first suggested the new procedure?” she inquired. In fact, I had, but I didn't think it was a game changer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She continued to discuss possible alternatives with Dr. Tummel for nearly 45 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Finally, they had a plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I looked down at my apparently small breasts, all I could see were multiple black lines that resembled a web - and small, black dots where each nipple would be re-positioned.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before leaving to see another patient, Dr. Klimberg told her nurse to call the surgery scheduler and make sure I was the first patient the following morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In a few minutes, Maureen returned and said Dr. Yuen, my plastic surgeon, already had the time slot reserved for one of his patients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was immediately apparent that Dr. Klimberg didn't like Maureen’s answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br />“I’ll be right back,” she told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br />Within a minute, Dr. Klimberg returned with a frustrated expression on her face and informed me that I would be second on the surgery schedule, which would be approximately 11:00 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“How long will the surgery take?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“About four hours,” she told me as she hugged me before leaving the exam room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br />“I’ll see you before we put you to sleep,” she added.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Don’t mess with my artwork,” she told me, pointing to my marked up breasts. After she left the room, I looked at my watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In less than 24 hours, I would be in surgery, receiving a life changing&nbsp;procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s merely the next step in my treatment plan, I reminded myself, as I put on my favorite bra for the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-70482629782826127472013-10-08T08:22:00.002-05:002013-10-08T08:22:55.759-05:00Dr. Suzanne Klimberg: The Surgeon Schedules the SurgeryThe aches and pains from my final <b>chemo treatment</b> were causing some discomfort when I reported for my appointment a few days later with nationally known <b>breast surgeon</b>, <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg</b>. I nicknamed the good doctor “Picasso” because of her penchant for drawing imaginary incision lines on my breasts as a way to explain the upcoming <b>mastectomy</b> surgery.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oJL4KjYVQ0s/UlQGYAGMcJI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/0X_avB1rLWQ/s1600/Klimberg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, UAMS, breast cancer, mastectomy, Dr. Suzanne Klimberg" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oJL4KjYVQ0s/UlQGYAGMcJI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/0X_avB1rLWQ/s320/Klimberg.jpg" title="Marla Crider: A Breast Cancer Patient's Story: Dr. Suzanne Klimberg" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breast surgeon, Dr. Suzanne Klimberg.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It&nbsp;isn't&nbsp;unusual for Dr. Klimberg to have several medical students shadowing her every move and hanging on her every word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>These fresh-faced wannabes are eager to learn from the best in hopes of one day using their knowledge to create new, streamlined surgical techniques or, perhaps, to develop a vaccine that could eradicate <b>cancer</b> all together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There’s no better reason to be a patient at the <b><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:placename></st1:place>for Medical Sciences</b> – the state’s only teaching hospital – because you see the future of medicine in every young face wearing a lab coat and can’t help but think about the possibilities.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don, an accomplished surgeon himself, accompanied me to my appointment to ask questions about the surgery and interpret the answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We had only been in the exam room a few minutes when Dr. Klimberg’s nurse came in to inquire about my chemo regimen and to confirm the date of my last treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She surprised me when she requested to examine my breasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse took a black pen out of her pocket and drew a circle very near the right nipple where she felt evidence of the remaining cancer (Hmmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Apparently, everyone in the Klimberg clinic is an artist and my breast seems to be their favorite canvas). She explained that she was marking the area for Dr. Klimberg to evaluate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later Dr. K entered the room with a med student at her side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The doctor introduced her protégé to Don and me as one of her brightest scholars. The fresh-faced young woman blushed at the compliment. There were now a total of five people in the small cubicle, yet no one seemed to notice (or care) that I was lying bare-breasted on the exam table. It was all in a day’s work for them. I learned quickly after my first visit to the <b>UAMS Cancer Institute</b> six months ago that my breasts were no longer just mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had to relinquish custody of “the girls” to my medical team in an effort to rid the right one of cancer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Dr. K moved to the right side of the exam table and the med student was on the left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The RN was in the background making notes. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Klimberg immediately zeroed in on the black circle made by the nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She palpitated my right breast, then the left, and moved back to the right breast where she found what was left of the once very large mass. She instructed the med student to feel the small tumor, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was beginning to get a little nervous listening to the two of them bantering back and forth until Dr. Klimberg explained that her concern was not the small remnant of the tumor but rather the close proximity to the nipple. She was&nbsp;uneasy about saving it. “Do you like your nipples?” she inquired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Heck, yea,” I replied rather shocked at her question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>“Why wouldn’t I like them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We’ve been close pals for 60 years,” I stated rather matter-of-factly. “Well, in case you didn’t or should I not be able to save the blood supply to the right nipple, I want to assure you that Dr. Yuen (my plastic surgeon) makes a very nice nipple.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(It’s comforting to know that my reconstruction surgeon is known for his nipple-making.) No doubt, that was the strangest conversation I have ever had with anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I asked Dr. K if she was still planning to do the new surgical technique created just for me in an effort to salvage more tissue and skin for the breast reconstruction that had been delayed for six months due to my diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“Absolutely,” she remarked. Dr. K, or should I call her Dr. Picasso, took the black pen out of her lab coat and started drawing imaginary incision lines<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>(Here we go again, I thought.&nbsp;It's “show and tell” time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The med student listened intently as Dr. Klimberg explained the procedure to her, as well as Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The two surgeons in the room – Dr. K and my significant other – began to throw technical terms around until I reminded them that the bare-breasted patient didn’t understand a thing they were saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I interrupted their physician bonding moment and inquired if Dr. K had decided on a name for the new procedure. <b>“Breast over pants,”</b> my surgeon said with a straight face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Interestingly, Don knew exactly why she chose it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He enlightened me that there is a hernia repair called “vest over pants” and it all had to do with making a flap that restores blood flow to the impacted area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Klimberg shared with me that several of her students were vying to assist her in surgery to observe this new technique. I asked how she would determine which young surgeon-to-be would be in the operating room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“It all comes down to which one has the best bribe,” quipped my brilliant body artist.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Klimberg’s nurse jumped in and asked if she was really supposed to put the name <b>“breast over pants”</b> on the surgery orders because the medical staff would question it, having never heard of such a procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Even more reason to do it,” Dr. K responded with a twinkle in her eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After sitting up on the exam table and covering my bareness with an unfashionable gown, the nurse informed me that I was on the surgery schedule for Friday, October 11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Do you know if it will be morning or afternoon?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. K jumped in and said the team usually reserves the early morning surgeries for old people and diabetics and I qualified for both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her comment as did the others in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse handed me several pages of instructions and told me to return for a pre-surgery consult with Dr. Klimberg on October 10, followed by a meeting with the assigned anesthesiologist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“It’s really going to happen,” I remarked to Don as we exited the cancer institute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“I just hope I’m emotionally prepared when the date rolls around.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“I have no doubt that you will handle the surgery with the same determination that you did the chemotherapy,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>From his lips to God’s ears…</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-42680658250208663242013-09-23T15:39:00.001-05:002013-09-23T15:39:18.695-05:00And Then There Was None...Finally, the day had arrived – September 6 – my<b> last chemo treatment</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had been giddy all week in anticipation of this day. I had experienced many peaks and valleys during the four months of therapy, but I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2YP5w1Emdmg/UkClTKyf2II/AAAAAAAAAI0/PSpKUvC0zSw/s1600/Marla+-+Last+Treatment.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, breast cancer, patient stories, patient story, UAMS, Little Rock" border="0" height="228" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2YP5w1Emdmg/UkClTKyf2II/AAAAAAAAAI0/PSpKUvC0zSw/s320/Marla+-+Last+Treatment.JPG" title="Marla Crider: Final Chemo Treatment" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider receiving her final chemo treatment at UAMS!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My brother, Marion, and sister-in-law, Carolyn, made the 180-mile trip from <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place> to join me in what I hoped to be the afterglow of my final treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My appointment for the routine blood work was scheduled for 8 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, the early morning hour provided me an opportunity to visit the nearby Dunkin’ Donuts and pick up several dozen tasty treats for the staff at the infusion center and Dr. Makhoul’s office, just to express my gratitude for their exceptional care over the past four months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This was one delivery I was looking forward to making.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When my family and I arrived at the<b> infusion center</b> waiting area, there were only a few other patients in the room. My name was called almost immediately. And just as I had done seven times previously, I walked through the infusion room door and stepped on the scales for my weigh-in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was pleased to see that my “fighting” weight had not fluctuated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was escorted to a vacant recliner and awaited the arrival of an RN to make the required blood draw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A few minutes had passed when the Asian nurse, the professional who weeks earlier resolved my <b>painful port</b> issue, reported to my chair and began the process of filling vials with my poison enriched blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It surprised me when the efficient nurse commented that my final chemo treatment was scheduled in a few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She congratulated me for making it through the past months with few problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;<b></b></span><b>Completing chemotherapy</b> truly is an accomplishment, not just for the patient, but also for the medical staff. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The next order of business was an appointment with my <b>oncologist</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When my family and I arrived in the waiting area, I was overcome with a sense of apprehension. For the past 18 weeks, I had placed my life in the capable hands of <b>Dr. Issam Makhoul</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It suddenly dawned on me that he wouldn't be by my side when the next step of the treatment plan was implemented - <b>surgery</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As strange as it may sound, I felt as though my security blanket was being taken away and it frightened me just a little. Don, my significant other and a consummate physician himself, explained that it isn't unusual for patients to bond with their doctors when in a life threatening situation, which made perfect sense to me.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After a short wait, my name was called and a nurse’s assistant escorted Don and me to one of Dr. Makhoul’s exam cubicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Brenda, his effervescent RN, came in and gave me a huge hug because it was graduation day…from chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She made notes in my electronic file concerning my previous treatment and the side effects I experienced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My response was becoming routine – extreme bone pain, diarrhea and insomnia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I did share that the prescription Dr. Makhoul prescribed to help control the <b>night sweats</b> – <b>Venlafaxine</b> - was working quite well. The sweats had been less intense and frequent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Brenda was pleased with the results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She handed me a gown and told me to prepare for my exam.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, Dr. Makhoul entered the room and greeted Don and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Today is your final treatment, correct?” he asked. “You better believe it,” I responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He laughed and accused me of trying to get rid of him (If he only knew it was quite the opposite).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He reviewed the blood work from an hour earlier and said it was “excellent.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said I had an amazing constitution to have come through more than four months of chemotherapy with so few battle scars. I told him it was due to lots of prayers from family, friends and acquaintances and my mom, Happy, encouraging me every step of the way from heaven above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul’s comment also made me think of my dad, the man who said little but whose look and twinkle in his eye spoke volumes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could imagine him side-by-side with my mom, rolling an unlit Roi-Tan cigar in his mouth (are cigars allowed in heaven, unlit or otherwise?), smiling down at his baby girl with confidence that she was going to kick some cancer butt. It is those mental images that have kept me motivated throughout the process.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul examined me, carefully checking for any lymph node swelling in my neck or unusual breathing or heart activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He then manipulated my right breast to determine the location and size of the mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This time he didn't even bother to use his handy-dandy caliper to measure the tumor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“The <b>tumor</b> is at .5 centimeters, even if that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m not so sure that it isn't just scar tissue that I’m feeling,” he announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was music to my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul suggested scheduling an updated breast MRI to determine the status of the cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition, he said that my <b>breast surgeon, Dr. Klimberg</b>, would need the MRI for review prior to the <b>mastectomy</b> surgery.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As our time together came to a close, I asked Dr. Makhoul the protocol for scheduling appointments with him in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said he would see me at least once more before the surgery and then he hoped he never had to see me professionally again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>From his lips to God’s ears, I thought to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We exchanged good-byes and then he quickly departed to see another patient, while Don, Marion, Carolyn and I returned to the infusion center for my last intravenous procedure.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The early morning schedule for blood work and time with Dr. Makhoul allowed me the opportunity to move in and out of the appointments quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But it also placed me back at the infusion room when the majority of patients were waiting to have their blood drawn. It was only appropriate that I would have to wait for my last chemo treatment. After more than an hour, a nurse’s aide called my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Carolyn and I followed her to a recliner in the front section of the room, which meant that Mr. Nurse Ratched would not be administering my last treatment. I was disappointed. Instead, the knowledgeable Asian nurse was assigned to my case. She handed me three steroid pills to take with water while she hooked me up to additional <b>anti-nausea drugs</b>intravenously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition, she injected me with a large dose of Benadryl to counter any allergic reactions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As soon as the antihistamine hit my system, I immediately began giggling, as I had done in the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was as if I had been given the liquid form of laughing gas. When I started laughing, others around me joined in, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It is said that laughter is contagious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s true and what better place to have an epidemic of hilarity than in a cancer treatment center. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After five minutes or so, the laughter subsided and we moved on to the serious task of infusing the <b>Taxol</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Carolyn, Marion and Don alternated sitting with me for the three-hour ordeal. As I watched the last of the Taxol drip slowly into my veins, my emotions fluctuated between joy and trepidation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was so ready to have this part of the wellness program behind me; however, I had yet to prepare myself mentally for the pending mastectomies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One thing at a time, I told myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>As the efficient Asian nurse unhooked the tubes from my port, I sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Phase one of the treatment plan was complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mI6u3unDwQM/UkClx5R1J_I/AAAAAAAAAI8/5759KThPPL4/s1600/Last+Treatment+Celebration.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mI6u3unDwQM/UkClx5R1J_I/AAAAAAAAAI8/5759KThPPL4/s320/Last+Treatment+Celebration.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of chemo celebration! Pictured (from right to left)<br />Marla Crider&nbsp;with boyfriend, Don Vowell, brother, <br />Marion Crider&nbsp;and sister-in-law, Carolyn Crider.</td></tr></tbody></table>Fortunately, I had always felt pretty good the evening of my therapy so Don planned a celebration in honor of my accomplishment.&nbsp; My brother and sister-in-law joined Don and me for dinner at a popular <st1:city w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:city>restaurant overlooking the <st1:place w:st="on">Arkansas River</st1:place>.&nbsp; Even though I had not consumed much wine since the chemo treatments began, I decided it was a special occasion and that I deserved to clink glasses with my support team.&nbsp; Each of them shared a toast that touched my heart and made me realize, yet again, just how lucky I was (and still am) to have them by my side.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Just like clockwork, the dreaded diarrhea hit me on day two after the treatment and the uncomfortable bone pain followed on day three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My pelvis, knees and shins felt like there were little goblins inside trying to chisel their way out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition, the fatigue peaked on day three, so much so that I didn't have the energy to report to work on Monday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I took pain meds and slept most of the day, which enabled me to return to the office the following day. In week two after the final chemo session, I was energized both mentally and physically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Part of that was due to the fact that I had started sleeping four to five hours a night without the assistance of medications. I was ecstatic and even had a bounce in my step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was finally on my way to feeling like the new and about-to-be- improved Marla.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I first received the cancer diagnosis in early May, I was filled with countless emotions, such as fear and uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Of course, there was no question that I was going to fight with everything in my being to be cancer free, but there was a part of me that was dreading the cure – chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>However, I can honestly say that the aches, pains, fatigue, diarrhea, hair loss, night sweats, sleep deprivation, and ummmm…… oh, yes, chemo brain have all been worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Chemotherapy and the <b>UAMS</b>medical team who prescribed and administered it saved my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Now, on to the next phase of this journey…surgery.</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-37289068004021217602013-09-06T09:00:00.003-05:002013-09-06T09:00:22.080-05:00Taxol: The Chemo That Keeps On Giving<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4s_4jfyW1D4/UinfIVKu8lI/AAAAAAAAAIc/FYAMRZmGL_s/s1600/Treatment+7+-+One+More+To+Go.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, patient story, patient stories, UAMS, Little Rock, Arkansas, invasive ductal carcinoma" border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4s_4jfyW1D4/UinfIVKu8lI/AAAAAAAAAIc/FYAMRZmGL_s/s320/Treatment+7+-+One+More+To+Go.JPG" title="Marla Crider receiving chemo treatment #7. One more to go!" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider receives chemo treatment #7.<br />One more to go!</td></tr></tbody></table>The calendar showed that it was August 23; however, it wasn’t just any old late summer day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the date that I would receive the seventh of eight prescribed <b>chemo treatments</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As odd as it might sound, I was anxious for what lay ahead of me: blood work, appointment with <b>oncologist Dr. Issam Makhoul</b> and the next­-to-the-last toxin infusion that would strategically rid my body of those insidious <b>cancer</b> cells. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Even though there were days after my most recent treatment that were uncomfortable and challenging, it didn’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was on a mission and no side effects were going to deter me from being cancer free.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My brother, Mike, and sister-in-law, Barbara, journeyed from Northwest Arkansas to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><b>Little Rock</b></st1:place></st1:city>to provide family support for what was sure to be a long day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We reported to the <b>infusion center</b> at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Arkansas' <b>Winthrop P. Rockefeller&nbsp;Cancer</b></st1:placename></st1:place> Institute and, as usual, the waiting area was full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Many of the faces were familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While we didn’t know each other’s stories, we all shared a common thread – cancer – and the routine of curing it. After a 45-minute wait, the nurse’s assistant called my name from the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I followed her to the scales, where she checked my weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was stable and hadn’t changed from the previous treatment, which was good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was then escorted to a vacant recliner, where I waited for the assigned RN to draw blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The Asian nurse, who was the first to introduce me to <b>pain-free port access</b> weeks before, appeared with her hands full of vials and tubes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The efficient caregiver remembered me as the patient who had a port implanted on a nerve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As she prepared to insert the needle into the small, round tube&nbsp;embedded near my left collarbone, she advised me to take a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Once again, the process was painless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I will always be grateful to this&nbsp;knowledgable healthcare&nbsp;professional for sharing the deep-breathing trick that eliminated the dread and discomfort from my twice-monthly treatments.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After the blood work, my family and I proceeded to Dr. Makhoul’s office for my appointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Again, the waiting room was at capacity but our delay was minimal before I was called back to one of the evaluation rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When Dr. Mak appeared, he was anxious to discuss my <b>side effects</b> from the second <b>Taxol</b> treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said the severe<b> bone and joint pain</b> that I had experienced was not uncommon and would require that I continue taking pain medication to get me through the worst days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul also&nbsp;inquired how well I was resting at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I explained that the night sweats limited my ability to get more than two or three hours of sleep, he suggested that I begin taking a new medication – <b>venlafaxine</b> – that could decrease the intensity and frequency of the night sweats up to 50%.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Interestingly, the drug is classified as an anti-depressant but physicians learned from their patients that it also assisted in lessening menopausal symptoms, including <b>hot flashes and night sweats</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I&nbsp;had suffered from sleep deprivation for more than four months and was ready to try anything that the good doctor suggested.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Following our discussion, Dr. Makhoul examined me to check the status of the <b>breast tumor</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Using his handy-dandy measuring device he announced that the mass had decreased to 1.5 centimeters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We shared a high-five to celebrate the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He commented that after my final treatment the tumor could totally disappear and show up on an MRI merely as scar tissue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Wow! How far we had come in four months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When we started this journey in early May, I had a large, fast-growing mass, measuring 5.6 centimeters that was categorized as <b>grade 3, stage 3</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The current results are proof that chemotherapy works when you have the right physician prescribing the treatment. (Thank you, Dr. Makhoul!)</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mike, Barbara and I returned to the infusion center for my chemo treatment. Instead of being escorted to one of the recliners in the open “bullpen” area as usual, I was taken to a private room with an adjustable bed because it was the only space available. I sat on the bed and my sister-in-law occupied the companion chair next to me. As I settled in for the three-hour intravenous procedure, I heard a familiar voice approaching the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And there he was – Mr. Nurse Ratched – preparing to hook me up to the prescribed toxin of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He started the process by giving me more <b>steroids</b> to prevent nausea then injected me with <b>Benadryl</b> to counteract any potential allergic reactions to the Taxol. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>As soon as the drug hit my system, I started giggling as I had with the two previous treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I mentioned my uncontrollable urge to giggle to Mr. Nurse Ratched, who thought I said “wiggle.” He immediately decreased the flow of drug through the pump, thinking I was having a reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I repeated that the Benadryl made me giggle, especially&nbsp;when it was administered intravenously, Mr. Nurse Ratched started laughing at his misunderstanding and readjusted the drip to flow normally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>His dry wit fully engaged, he remarked that I was probably a cheap date if Benadryl had that kind of effect on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“A guy could ply you with Benadryl for a lot less than a couple of glasses of wine and have his way with you,” said my nemesis nurse, who I thought had no sense of humor whatsoever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>During the past four months, I had never seen that side of Mr. Nurse Ratched and it was a nice surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Three hours later, I was unhooked from the pump and sent home to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mike and Barbara stayed with me overnight just in case I experienced any nausea or side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They departed the following morning when they were convinced that I was feeling pretty good for having just completed my seventh chemo treatment.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On the third day after the treatment, I began to experience bone pain that was concentrated in my hips, knees and shins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was a constant ache that at times would cause me to catch my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>By the fourth day after the treatment, the pain had intensified leaving me no choice but to take the pain pills Dr. Makhoul had prescribed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m one of those people who can’t function when “doped” so going to the office that day was not an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even with the pain medication, I didn’t get much relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The discomfort continued for several more days; however, I managed to go to work, which actually helped divert my attention from my aching bones.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The week following the treatment, I started to notice that what few hairs I had left on my head were quickly disappearing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>In addition, my <b>eyebrows and eyelashes </b>were <b>falling out</b>, which took me totally by surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My arms and legs were now<b> hairless</b> and slick as a baby’s butt. Heck, since I no longer have to shave my legs or wash my hair in the shower, I can now complete the task in three minutes or less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m saving money on my water bill, razor blades and shampoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Who knew there would be a silver lining to chemo-induced hair loss?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And just to add to that list of pleasantries, my <b>fingernails</b> have also undergone a change thanks to the chemo treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They have become soft and spongy and have all but disintegrated, eliminating the need for a manicure anytime soon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Yet one more reason to save a few bucks…<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Py0sPPlRt3g/Uinfptnke7I/AAAAAAAAAIk/BjDN41w5mxg/s1600/Venlafaxine+37_5+mg-AMN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Py0sPPlRt3g/Uinfptnke7I/AAAAAAAAAIk/BjDN41w5mxg/s200/Venlafaxine+37_5+mg-AMN.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venlafaxine reduces night sweats.</td></tr></tbody></table>On a brighter note, after taking the <b>venlafaxine</b> for the hot flashes and night sweats for a week, I could definitely tell a difference.&nbsp; Instead of waking up three to four times per night totally drenched with sweat, I was now sleeping&nbsp;up to&nbsp;five hours a night - something I hadn't done in months.&nbsp; Once again, Dr. Makhoul came to my rescue with an appropriate medication.&nbsp; When I asked him in his office how long the sweats would continue, he said approximately two years.&nbsp; Oh, goody!</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Let’s see…no hair, no eyelashes, no eyebrows, no fingernails, intense bone pain and drenching night sweats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As unpleasant as those things may sound, I have been very unemotional about the changes to the exterior of my body. The side effects and annoyances associated with chemotherapy are temporary and worth enduring whatever necessary to kill the cancer within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I am now only days away from my final chemo treatment and all I can say is “bring it on” because I can handle whatever the chemo gremlins throw at me.</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-66836040996352725232013-08-25T11:32:00.001-05:002013-08-25T11:32:57.624-05:00Taxol Renders Quite a Punch!My sixth <b>chemotherapy treatment</b> was scheduled in mid August and began like the previous five…blood work, followed by an appointment with my magician of an oncologist, <b>Dr. Issam Makhoul</b>, and then my three-hour encounter with intravenous poison.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMd6ekCF3WU/UhowSZ1CFuI/AAAAAAAAAIE/FaQeVnGNr_I/s1600/Marla+Receiving+Taxol+Treatment+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, patient stories, UAMS" border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMd6ekCF3WU/UhowSZ1CFuI/AAAAAAAAAIE/FaQeVnGNr_I/s320/Marla+Receiving+Taxol+Treatment+2.JPG" title="Marla Crider receiving Taxol treatment #2" width="267" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla receiving her 2nd Taxol treatment. Only <br />two more to go!&nbsp;</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My brother Mike and sister-in-law Barbara drove from <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place> to be with me for the treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I can’t emphasize enough how important and meaningful it has been to have my family surround me with love and support as I battle <b>breast cancer</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Mike and my middle brother, Marion, alternate trips to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:place></st1:city> every other week to ensure that I have family around each time I must endure another chemo treatment. I’m convinced they, and my beloved Don, are the reasons I have been able to tolerate the chemotherapy drugs with minimal <b>side effects</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My family and countless friends have all contributed to my positive state of mind, which is extremely important in <b>fighting cancer</b>.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When Mike, Barb and I arrived at the <b>UAMS Cancer Institute</b>, we were handed face masks as soon as we entered the building and instructed to wear them as long as we were in the cancer wing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A flu epidemic was spreading throughout the multiple myeloma&nbsp;section of the hospital and in order to contain the sickness, the public was asked to wear masks to minimize spreading germs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><b>Multiple myeloma</b>patients undergoing chemotherapy virtually have no immune system because the treatment destroys the patients' bone marrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The flu can be extremely dangerous to all cancer patients in treatment but especially to those with multiple myeloma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The three of us donned our face masks and made our way to the infusion clinic where I awaited my turn for the blood draw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was an odd scene when we entered the waiting area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Every person in the room was wearing a mask, just like us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We were all trying to do our part to control the flu epidemic and protect my fellow cancer patients. I learned quickly that sporting a face mask escalates hot flashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My inclination was to rip the mask off my face and fan myself with it, but I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, I let the abundant perspiration drip off my chin and catch in the trough created by my bra, which was quickly becoming saturated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Bras serve multiple functions and sweat-catcher is one of them.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I fanned myself furiously with a magazine, I heard a nurse call my name from the infusion room door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was anxious to follow her into the (always) frigid treatment room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Before I could reach my cool destination, I had to step on the scales and check my weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had only lost a half pound and was still in the “safe” category. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I was delighted when the nurse told me I didn’t have to wear the mask in the infusion area because it was super sterilized. It only took me a second to remove the hot, contraption from my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I immediately began to cool down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse, who was unfamiliar to me, escorted me to a vacant recliner and began preparing for the blood draw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Like a broken record, I told her about my port-on-nerve situation and requested that she not insert the needle until I took a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Thank goodness, our in-unison approach produced pain-free port access.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since learning about the deep breathing method a few weeks earlier, I no longer dreaded the blood draw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was now just a routine part of treatment day. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After collecting four vials of blood, I was dismissed from the infusion center and told to pull the protective mask over my nose before re-entering the waiting area to meet my entourage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Masks in place,&nbsp;my group&nbsp;took the elevator seven floors up for my appointment with Dr. Makhoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As we exited the elevator, there were dozens of people in the clinic lobby all wearing white or yellow face masks and doing their part to eradicate the flu epidemic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We found chairs together and began the wait. Surprisingly, I was called back to Dr. Makhoul’s exam area within 30 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was another 20 minutes before the very busy doctor rushed into the cubicle to give me a hug. We bantered with ease about my remarkable response to the chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I&nbsp;was quick to give&nbsp;him credit for my progress because of his genius as an oncologist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He is a humble man who uncomfortably accepts compliments. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I would have expected nothing less.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul was very curious how I handled the first infusion of Taxol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I told him about the severe bone and joint pain, as well as the serious diarrhea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He encouraged me to take the pain tablets – <b>Tramadol</b> – that he had prescribed to reduce the musculoskeletal discomfort. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He also instructed me to use Imodium, an over the counter anti-diarrheal medication for the first few days after chemo to help eliminate the symptoms. I assured him that I would.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He was anxious to examine me and check the size of the tumor after just one treatment of Taxol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He used his handy dandy scale to measure the mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He looked up at me with a grin and said, “We’ve come along way from the 5.6 centimeters when we started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There has been a significant reduction to 2.2 centimeters.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was overwhelmed with joy and felt reassured that that the tumor might actually shrink to nothingness. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul quickly signed my chemo orders and told me he was very proud of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I told him it was because we had a great doctor-patient relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And I do believe that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m convinced that if you don’t have faith in your medical team, the results of the chemotherapy might not be as effective.<br /><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PqSAKoOkg_g/UhoxEaotRfI/AAAAAAAAAIM/VQrjKDrTZyg/s1600/Mike+and+Marla+in+Masks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, UAMS, Taxol, patient stories, chemo, side effects" border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PqSAKoOkg_g/UhoxEaotRfI/AAAAAAAAAIM/VQrjKDrTZyg/s320/Mike+and+Marla+in+Masks.JPG" title="Marla and brother, Mike Crider at UAMS Cancer Institute" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider with her brother, Mike Crider, at UAMS.</td></tr></tbody></table>Mike, Barbara, Don and I returned to the infusion center and waited to be called back to the room where the magic happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Everyone in the waiting area was wearing a face mask, including all of us. As soon as I sat down, beads of perspiration began rolling down my face, neck and back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I immediately started fanning myself with a magazine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had decided the mask was making me feel slightly claustrophobic, which was triggering the hot flashes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Just for a few short moments I dropped the mask below my chin and began to immediately cool off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was at that time, the nurse called my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Thank goodness, I could remove the mask once I got beyond the infusion room door… and I did just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What a relief!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Barbara accompanied me to my assigned recliner and observed the nurse as she prepared me for the treatment process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yet another new RN would be overseeing my treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I learned that Mr. Nurse Ratched was attending a conference as were four other nurses I had come to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I rather missed them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My new caregiver provided me with three more <b>steroid</b> tablets (five total for the day) to prevent nausea. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>(No wonder I was restless and felt as though I could dance on the ceiling.) In addition, the nurse injected <b>Pepcid</b> into my intravenous tubing to help calm my stomach before the <b>Taxol</b> was administered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Following the Pepcid, she injected <b>Benadryl</b> into my port to prevent an allergic reaction to the Taxol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As soon as the Benadryl reached my veins I felt a “rush” of sorts and started laughing uncontrollably for about three minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My laughter was contagious as others around me started laughing, as well. Once my giggles were under control, the bag of poison was hung from the intravenous pole and the&nbsp;treatment began. A few minutes after the Taxol entered my system, my right <b>breast started tingling</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The poison had already found its way to the cancer-ridden mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was a rather remarkable feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; For the next three hours, my family alternated positions as my support team in the infusion room.&nbsp; It certainly helps pass the time when conversation is exchanged.</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I experienced no allergic reactions during the treatment and completed the process feeling pretty good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Before leaving the infusion room, the nurse handed me two days worth of steroids to keep the nausea at bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While steroids are a God-send when it comes to the prevention of nausea and vomiting during chemotherapy, the medication also contributes to insomnia and wreaks havoc on <b>diabetes</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After six treatments, I had finally learned how to adjust my <b>insulin</b> to compensate for the extremely <b>high blood sugars</b>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>As for the <b>insomnia</b>, nothing much helps with that inconvenience. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The day following the treatment, the diarrhea returned but I was able to curtail the seriousness of it by taking Imodium as soon as I had the first episode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>On day three the <b>bone and joint pain</b> returned with a vengeance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The discomfort in my hips, lower back, knees and shins was debilitating and lasted three consecutive days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As much as I deplore taking pain medication, I had no choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was my only source of comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I managed to go to work but not without a couple of Tramadol tablets to get me through the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>By the seventh day after the Taxol treatment, the bone pain had finally subsided and I was (somewhat) back to normal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>No matter how uncomfortable the side effects may be, I admittedly welcome them as proof that the chemo treatments are doing exactly what they are designed to do – kill the cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And if that means I might have to endure a few throbbing bones and a bout of diarrhea, then so be it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My goal of being cancer free is just two treatments away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And I can tolerate anything for that along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-58021617388720059402013-08-12T15:06:00.000-05:002013-08-12T16:31:43.521-05:00Taxol Equals Tumor ReductionMy brother, Marion, and sister-in-law, Carolyn, arrived in <st1:city w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:city> from <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place>on July 25 to accompany me to my scheduled <b>chemo treatment</b> the following morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Under normal circumstances, Don would have been with me, as well, but he was scheduled to undergo a medical procedure of his own, which I am happy to report generated good results.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My family and I arrived on Friday morning at the <b>UAMS Cancer Institute</b> for the routine blood work required before meeting with Dr. Makhoul’s nurse practitioner, who was filling in for him while he attended a medical conference.&nbsp;We reported to the infusion waiting room, as usual. </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x1XPulQJbl0/Ugk_bcg-VlI/AAAAAAAAAH0/tZqiCiq_bac/s1600/Marion+Carolyn+and+Marla+at+Celebratory+Dinner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, little rock, arkansas, breast cancer, patient stories, UAMS" border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x1XPulQJbl0/Ugk_bcg-VlI/AAAAAAAAAH0/tZqiCiq_bac/s320/Marion+Carolyn+and+Marla+at+Celebratory+Dinner.JPG" title="Marla Crider: Taxol Equals Tumor Reduction" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider having celebratory dinner with brother Marion <br />and sister-in-law Carolyn.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">While dressing earlier that morning, I made the decision to wear a scarf and huge flower as my head cover. It was the comfortable choice for the long day ahead of me. While I was waiting to be called for the blood draw, a lovely black woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to tell her how I tied the scarf and secured the flower to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her goal was to duplicate the effort for Sunday church. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Our conversation made me feel more confident about wearing scarves in public, rather than the hot wigs that had become a part of my everyday work attire.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, a nurse of Asian decent called my name from the infusion room door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I followed her inside, where I stepped on the scales for my twice monthly weigh-in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had lost another pound but was still within the limit of no concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse escorted me to an empty recliner and said she would be the one accessing my port for the blood draw. It was our first nurse/patient encounter; therefore, I would have to caution her about my port-on-nerve malady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The nurse said she wanted to try something that might eliminate the discomfort I usually experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She instructed me to take a deep breath and I complied. Simultaneously, she quickly inserted the large gauge needle into the port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was a flawless and painless procedure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It made perfect sense; taking the deep breath expanded my diaphragm and lifted the port from atop the nerve. I was almost giddy with the outcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She quickly finished her task then taped the dangling port lines to my chest in preparation for the chemo treatment. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My family and I departed for the appointment with Dr. Makhoul’s colleague.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The waiting room was filled to capacity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was going to be “one of those days.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Almost an hour had passed when the nurse practitioner finally arrived in my cubicle to tell me that my blood work was in the “normal” category, indicating that I would not have to endure another Neulasta injection in the belly to help stimulate white blood cell production. She asked if I would be receiving my first treatment of <b>Taxol</b> that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I nodded my head in the affirmative. She warned me that the most common complaints about the drug included flu-like symptoms, bone and muscle aches and tingling of the hands and feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thanked her for the details and departed for my first one-on-one with the toxin. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After only a minor delay in the infusion waiting room, a nursing assistant summoned me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was time to experience a new chemo adventure – Taxol. Carolyn accompanied me with the intention of helping pass the time during the three-hour, intravenous process. As soon as I occupied the recliner, the male version of Florence Nightingale, aka Mr. Nurse Ratched, approached my chair and said, “You’re here for your first Taxol treatment, right?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Yes,” I replied. “Bring it on.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Get comfortable because you’re going to be here a while,” he responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I pulled out a book of crossword puzzles and settled into my chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In his loud, booming voice, Mr. Nurse Ratched started rattling off all the things that could happen with Taxol, such as <b>hives</b>, <b>swollen tongue</b>, <b>breathing issues</b>, and <b>low blood pressure</b> to name a few. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He explained that I would be given Benadryl intravenously along with the Taxol to counteract any possible allergic reactions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“The Benadryl will probably make you sleepy,” he warned me (for&nbsp;someone who sleeps very little, I welcomed the possibility). Before he hooked me up to the drugs, he brought me six pills to take – the <b>anti-nausea </b>cocktail that included more steroids. As soon as I swallowed the meds, Mr. Nurse Ratched injected Benadryl into my port and proceeded to hang the bag of Taxol on the pole next to me and dialed in the rate of drip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“If you’re going to react, we will know shortly,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Carolyn watched me closely to see if she could detect any changes as the Taxol dripped into my veins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead of making me drowsy, the Benadryl just blurred my vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Then I started giggling as if I had consumed one glass of wine too many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was an internal battle going on in my system between the abundant steroids and the Benadryl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Apparently, the steroids were winning because I wasn’t sleepy… darn it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Mr. Nurse Ratched continued to check on me to ensure I wasn’t reacting to the Taxol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">For the next three hours, I read and worked crossword puzzles, while Carolyn and Marion alternated sitting with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, there were no signs of an allergic reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What I did notice was a tingling feeling in my right breast accompanied by little sharp jabs… a sensation not experienced with the previous chemo drugs. Could it be that the Taxol had already found its way to the cancer cells in my breast?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After all, the drug is known for reducing the size of malignant tumors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The tingling continued throughout the treatment. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Carolyn and I were chatting away as the last of the Taxol dripped from the bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Suddenly, a small, white feather floated from above and landed in my lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“The chemo is either causing you to molt or it’s a sign from above,” Carolyn remarked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We started laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The feather was from my festive flower affixed to my scarf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the perfect way to end the three-hour ordeal. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Since I didn’t experience any allergic reactions to the Taxol, I knew that new side effects could be a possibility the first few days after my treatment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I awoke the following morning with slight <b>tingling in my hands and feet</b>, which is considered a common response. The feeling subsided within a few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The next day, fatigue and digestive issues were the side effects du jour. After taking medications throughout the day to deal with the diarrhea, a new condition cropped up – severe <b>bone pain</b> in my upper spine, hips, knees and shins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was so uncomfortable during the night that I had to take pain medication and place pillows under my knees to take some of the pressure off the joints. I went to work on Monday morning but the pain was ever-present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I checked the side effects on the Internet just to confirm that what I was experiencing was normal…and it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The pain lasted two more days. The days following I felt great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I did feel pretty good and actually had some energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The fatigue was still present but only at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was even sleepy at normal bedtime hours; however, the <b>night sweats</b> continued to wake me up and disturb my slumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After two and a half months of chemotherapy, I was accustomed to the minor inconveniences associated with ridding my body of cancer.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">About ten days after the Taxol infusion, I decided to check the size of the mass in my right breast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was significantly smaller and could no longer be felt along the outer tissue, which was very exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The Taxol was responding exactly the way Dr. Makhoul said it would and after only one treatment, too. There is no question that the Taxol causes more issues than the adriamycin and cytoxan cocktails taken during the first four treatments; however, I felt confident that it was going to eliminate the tumor completely and make it easier for the breast surgeon, Dr. Klimberg, to do her job. There is no question in my mind that the positive results of chemotherapy far outweigh any of the pesky side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And with only three more treatments to go, I’m determined to persevere. </div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-13984331534112499062013-07-30T12:43:00.002-05:002013-07-30T12:43:17.045-05:00Dr. Suzanne Klimberg: The Picasso of Breast Surgeons<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jN9QlWOSmUY/Uff6SmYnG6I/AAAAAAAAAHc/p7RozQH5ojM/s1600/pablo-picasso-woman-flower-1946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, Arkansas, invasive ductal carcinoma, patient stories" border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jN9QlWOSmUY/Uff6SmYnG6I/AAAAAAAAAHc/p7RozQH5ojM/s320/pablo-picasso-woman-flower-1946.jpg" title="Dr. Suzanne Klimberg: The Picasso of Breast Surgeons" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picasso's "Woman Flower."</td></tr></tbody></table>After my recent appointment with <b>Dr. James Yuen</b>, <b>Chief of Plastic Surgery</b> at the <b>University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences</b>, I was disappointed to learn that simultaneous breast reconstruction was not recommended in my case because of possible <b>diabetes</b>­ related <b>complications</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had done some preliminary research and knew that it would be more difficult for Dr. Yuen to create natural looking breasts after&nbsp;extended healing.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He </span>and my breast surgeon, <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg</b>, are well known nationally for their tag-team approach at providing <b>breast cancer surviors</b>, like I am soon to be, with&nbsp;anatomically sculpted&nbsp;breasts and a chance at normalcy after enduring chemo treatments, radiation and life altering surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I trusted Dr. Yuen’s decision to delay the reconstruction for the suggested six months; however, I was concerned that waiting would impact the outcome of the procedure.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Several days after meeting with Dr. Yuen, I had a follow-up&nbsp;appointment with Dr. Klimberg, who counsels with her patients midway through the chemo treatments to evaluate the size of the tumor(s). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I was to</span>&nbsp;meet with the good doctor at 4:00 p.m. and by 4:15 I was already in a cubicle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The exam room door opened and in walked a candy striper without the well known red and white uniform. But it wasn’t a candy-striper. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>She was a young doctor with a stethoscope hanging around her neck who looked to be 15 years-old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She sported a 10-inch waist and long blond hair that was pulled back in a ponytail and secured with a green rubber band. I was stunned when she introduced herself as <b>Dr. Gallagher</b>, an associate of Dr. Klimberg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Good grief, she was a practicing breast surgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>And, I was an aging diva. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Gallagher asked lots of questions and inquired how I was managing the chemo treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Splendidly,” I responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She wanted to know if I had met with Dr. Yuen about the reconstruction surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I told her that I had but he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She asked me to elaborate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I shared the diabetes dilemma and his concern of infection if he performed the reconstruction simultaneously with the bilateral mastectomies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Gallagher confirmed that Dr Yuen’s experience with diabetics and prosthesis rejection is a serious consideration. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Gallagher examined my breasts and was curious about how much the tumor had reduced in size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I told her the mass measured 5.6 centimeters prior to beginning chemo, she said it was apparent to the touch that it had decreased in size; however, she was still concerned about its close proximity to the nipple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>According to my own research and numerous conversations with my doctors, saving the nipple can be essential to reconstructing more natural looking breasts. Dr. Gallagher’s comment made me uneasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She completed the exam and told me Dr. Klimberg would&nbsp;see me&nbsp;shortly to discuss Dr. Yuen’s viewpoint.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes passed when the queen of breast surgeons came in accompanied by Dr. Gallagher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She scanned my chart and asked me to tell her about my conversation with Dr. Yuen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I told her that he wanted to delay the plastic surgery for six months after the mastectomies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Without missing a beat she said, “Well, we just don’t like him anymore.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; F</span>or a split second her comment surprised me, but then I realized her dry wit was fully engaged. She then requested to exam me. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I lay&nbsp;bare-breasted on the exam table in a very small room with young Dr. Gallagher on my left side and a very animated Dr. Klimberg on the right, she lifted and tugged on my cancer-ridden breast. I asked if she thought delaying the reconstructive surgery would cause the viability of the skin and nipple to deteriorate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As she stared at my breast with her chin resting between her thumb and forefinger of her right hand, she quickly made the “Shhhhhh,” sound and said, “I’m thinking.” Her response made my laugh out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Klimberg was in rare form and her next question proved it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Do you have a pen with dark ink?” she asked her Barbie doll-like associate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As Dr. Gallagher handed a pen to the senior surgeon, we looked at each other with curiosity and had no clue what was coming next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Then Dr. Klimberg began drawing imaginary incision lines on my breast in black ink, explaining with each stroke how she was going to customize the surgery in order to save more skin, and especially, the nipple. <br /><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T4oQIYzPTm0/Uff69dvUd6I/AAAAAAAAAHk/REAsbvhC3-E/s1600/Suzanne+Klimberg+-+Picasso+of+Breast+Surgeons+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T4oQIYzPTm0/Uff69dvUd6I/AAAAAAAAAHk/REAsbvhC3-E/s200/Suzanne+Klimberg+-+Picasso+of+Breast+Surgeons+2.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Suzanne Klimberg, UAMS</td></tr></tbody></table>“I have wanted to try this surgery for a while and you are the perfect candidate,” Dr. Klimberg reassured me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“The procedure doesn’t have a name yet but I’ll come up with something descriptive and appropriate before we try it on you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I sat on the exam table and analyzed Dr. Klimberg’s newly created masterpiece comprised of circles and curved lines, I realized that I could be part of something medically ground-breaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was thrilled and fascinated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This, I thought to myself, is why Dr. Klimberg is one of the best breast surgeons in the country. And she’s right here in Little Rock&nbsp;at the <b>UAMS Winthrop P. Rockefeller Cancer Institute</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>How fortunate we Arkansans are to have her in The Natural State.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I refocused on the conversation at hand, both doctors were still bantering about a medical name for the “Marla Crider” surgical technique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Gallagher suggested that the new procedure should contain Dr. Klimberg’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“No,” she responded, “I already have an enema named after me and that would be a little too much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Besides being a brilliant surgeon, this woman was also a stand-up comedian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before Dr. Klimberg left the room, she said she wanted to see me again a week after my last chemo treatment, which would be in early September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s when we would schedule the date for the bilateral mastectomies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She gave me a hug and reassured me that I was going to look fabulous when the entire process was complete and suggested that a photo of my new ta-tas might be included in one of her “show and tell” presentations or even a text book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I left <b>UAMS</b> that afternoon, I felt better than I had in months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, thanks to Dr. Suzanne Klimberg - the Pablo Picasso of American breast surgeons.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-34748051406317013952013-07-21T10:53:00.001-05:002013-07-21T10:55:44.793-05:00Chemo Treatment Four: Halfway ThereMy fourth <b>treatment</b> on July 12 marked the midway point of my <b>chemotherapy</b> regimen. Hopefully, it would be the last time I would have to endure the two prescribed drugs -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><b>adriamycin</b>and <b>cytoxan</b> – being <b>infused</b> into my <b>veins</b> and the ensuing havoc within my system. However, I must still engage in phase two of the treatment program, which will undoubtedly bring with it different side effects and another test of my endurance.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v3rsDx7U5CM/UewDdspfxZI/AAAAAAAAAHI/UBxoiqCdWw4/s1600/Infusion+4+-+Halfway+There.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, Arkansas, breast cancer, patient stories, UAMS, cancer treatment center, chemo" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v3rsDx7U5CM/UewDdspfxZI/AAAAAAAAAHI/UBxoiqCdWw4/s320/Infusion+4+-+Halfway+There.JPG" title="Marla Crider: Invasive Ductal Carcinoma: Chemo treatment 4: Halfway there" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider: Chemo treatment #4: Halfway there!</td></tr></tbody></table>My brother, Mike, and sister-in-law, Barbara, happened to be in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Little Rock</st1:place></st1:city> on treatment day to help celebrate their granddaughter’s 21<sup>st</sup> birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Being the caring and compassionate family members that they are, Mike and Barb both decided to accompany Don and me to <b>UAMS</b> for the afternoon of <b>blood work</b>, the <b>oncologist</b> appointment and the <b>chemo infusion</b>. It makes for a long day - and one that requires lots of patience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s a testament to how important family and friends are to the <b>cancer treatment</b> process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My brothers, sisters-in-law, and my beloved Don serve as my anchors and the ones who keep me focused and dedicated to being cancer-free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We arrived for the biweekly blood check at the <b>UAMS cancer institute</b> right on time and, as usual, had to wait for a bit before the ritual began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I recognized a few familiar chemo patients in the waiting room. We nodded to each other, signaling that we were members of a fraternity, of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One by one, their names were called and mine soon followed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I entered the infusion room, I stepped on the scales and noticed that I had lost more than a pound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It wasn’t of concern to the medical team, since my total weight loss was still less than ten pounds, a result of the erratic, <b>steroid-induced blood sugar</b>s that I had been experiencing. Even though the nurse’s assistant escorted me to a chair in the front of the room, I could still see that all 32 chairs were taken with patients receiving their prescribed toxin concoctions&nbsp;(Oh, for the day that empty chairs are the norm and not the exception). A new nurse approached my station and introduced herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I rattled off&nbsp;my name and birth date,&nbsp;a security measure&nbsp;to ensure that I was receiving the correct procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As she was organizing the vials on a tray for the various blood tests, I enlightened her about my port and how it was positioned on top of a nerve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I asked that she keep the information in mind when she inserted the needle for the blood collection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>She responded that she would, and before I had time to tense up, my experienced RN had connected the needle to the port and collected the necessary blood for testing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the first time in four treatments that I didn't have to claim “<b>port abuse</b>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Nurse Pain Free was my new best friend!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My family and I reported seven floors up for the appointment with <b>Dr. Makhoul</b>. When we exited the elevator, it was evident a long wait was in front of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Approximately an hour later, my name was called. Don and I maneuvered our way to one of Dr. Mak’s exam rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Thirty minutes had passed when my wizard of an <b>oncologist</b> hurriedly entered the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He asked if I had experienced any new side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Yes,” I replied, “<b>diarrhea</b>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It took three treatments but one of the more common chemotherapy side effects had decided to make itself known during the past two weeks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It was annoying and inconvenient but only temporary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Other than the usual things – <b>night sweats, insomnia and rapid heart rate</b> – I was responding to the chemo pretty well. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before Dr. Makhoul examined me, he checked my blood work and declared it perfect, which he said was a little unusual for someone who had undergone three chemo infusions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He called me his “A+” patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When he checked the<b> tumor</b>, he announced that it had<b> reduced in size</b> to 3.3 centimeters from 3.6 two weeks earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was disappointed that there had only been a slight change. He said it wasn’t unusual for the <b>adriamycin/cytoxan cocktail</b> to slow its attack on the mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s why the chemo drugs are changed during the course of the therapy – to trick the cancer cells and catch them off guard. It sounded like a reasonable explanation to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After I redressed, Dr. Mak alerted me that he would be attending an oncology conference when I returned for treatment five in two weeks. His nurse practitioner would be on hand to check my blood work and sign the prescription for the new chemo drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I tried not to show my disappointment that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to interact and ask questions of my genius doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He could read my apprehension well. Dr. Mak gave me a quick hug before he left the room. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was mid-afternoon when the <b>Crider</b> entourage returned to the infusion center. The waiting room was almost empty, an indication that I would be called quickly and I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My sister-in-law, Barb, accompanied me to the recliner where I would receive my <b>fourth treatment</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was her first time to be an observer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yet another new nurse approached and introduced herself as my assigned RN. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I could hear Mr. Nurse Ratched bellowing orders at the patient across from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He made his way to my chair to say hell-o and deliver the message that a new challenge faced me in two weeks when the new drug regimen began<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>(Mr. Nurse Ratched, always the bearer of joy and optimism). I was confused by his statement but my RN soon explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After she started the adriamycin drip, my nurse informed me that the next chemo drug would be <b>Taxol</b>, a powerful poison known for interfering with cancer cell growth and promoting tumor shrinkage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I learned that the thick and sticky drug would require three hours to be injected into my system, and due to the possibility of an allergic reaction, I would receive liquid Benadryl intravenously along with the Taxol. Based on what my RN had just told me, I was quickly becoming anxious about the next phase of my treatment plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">According to the nurse, possible drug consequences were <b>hives, difficulty breathing, low blood pressure and/or fainting, and swelling of the face, lips, tongue, or throat</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My mind was whirling with “what ifs.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">When I was diagnosed with<b> cancer</b>, never once did I dread the idea of chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In fact, I embraced it and was ready to get started because I knew it was necessary to rid my body of cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But, for the first time, I was nervous and even scared to begin the next phase of Dr. Makhoul’s prescribed treatment plan. “Oh, my” was the only response I could manage.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">My concern deepened when the nurse elaborated about the side effects of Taxol, which include severe <b>fatigue, flu-like symptoms and temporary neuropathy</b>, i.e., tingling and numbness of the hands and feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Well, this just keeps getting better and better, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The RN cautioned that I would need someone with me during and after the Taxol treatment to help monitor my reactions. After hearing all the negatives about Taxol, it made me regret talking so badly about the adriamycin and cytoxan drugs throughout the first four treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; It reminded </span>me of the saying, “Be careful what you wish for.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">After the last of the cytoxan had made its way into my vein, the RN removed the needle from my port and handed me the usual pill bottles containing the anti-nausea steroids that would no doubt traumatize my <b>diabetes</b> over the next five days. She then handed one additional bottle to me with instructions to take two pills on July 25, the night before the scheduled Taxol treatment, and two more the following morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She identified the new prescription as more <b>anti-nausea</b> steroids that would start working in advance of my introduction to Taxol.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I left the infusion center with lots on my mind but refused to think ahead to the Taxol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had to deal with the present and the drugs currently circulating throughout my system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There could and probably would be ramifications from the most recent infusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was a “wait and see” situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The first few days after treatment four I felt pretty good but was more tired than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul warned me to expect the fatigue to intensify as the drug regimen progressed, and once again, his timing was “right on.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I felt well enough to attend an out-of-town meeting mid-week but physically paid for it upon my return. It was as if the side effects had been waiting for just the right time to slap me with a great big dose of chemotherapy reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I awoke on day seven with <b>bone pain</b> from the <b>Neulasta</b> shot (white blood cell stimulant), a serious case of diarrhea and a mouthful of raw sores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I kept telling myself that these were merely minor inconveniences and a temporary, but necessary, part of my journey to wellness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Throughout this process, I have made a sincere effort to keep an upbeat attitude; however, when you feel like a bus just ran over you – twice – it’s best to stay in bed and rest, which I did. Dr. Makhoul has repeatedly told me to give in to the symptoms and not use precious energy to fight them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I now understand what he meant. With chemotherapy, there is no rhyme or reason for how (or when) it affects the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s merely a situation of rolling with the punches and continuing the good fight…no matter how bad you might feel. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-86746195710307763382013-07-13T17:46:00.000-05:002013-07-21T08:52:48.194-05:00Sometimes You Just Need to CryThe day before my most recent <b>chemo treatment</b>, which was scheduled on July 12, I met with <b>Dr. James Yuen</b>, Chief of <b>Plastic Surgery</b> at <b>UAMS</b>,&nbsp;and the surgeon assigned to&nbsp;handle my <b>breast reconstruction </b>simultaneously&nbsp;with the <b>bilateral mastectomies</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was actually excited for my first visit with him about the procedure, especially since it will be the longest phase of my <b>breast cancer</b> journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>In preparation for my appointment, Dr. Yuen’s nurse forwarded several informative brochures in the mail about the latest and greatest breakthroughs in <b>reconstructive surgery</b>, as well as the types of <b>implants</b> that are now available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The reading materials were full of overwhelmingly technical jargon, which forced me to write down lots of questions to ask the doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was prepared for the appointment.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/HCrnr7BxkX0" width="400"></iframe> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />Dr. Yuen has been described as a masterful artist with the human body being his canvas. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>When he entered the exam room, I immediately started sizing him up (only fair since he was going to be analyzing my breasts). He appeared to be in his mid to late 40s and had wisdom written all over his Asian face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When he first started talking to me, I could immediately tell why he was a member of my wellness team and why nationally renowned breast surgeon <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg</b> appointed him&nbsp;as her&nbsp;tag-team reconstruction magician. Assisting Dr. Yuen during the appointment&nbsp;was a young female surgeon, whose job it would be to insert the temporary tissue expanders that stretch the breast skin in preparation for the permanent prosthesis devices. Also, making up the interview team was a male plastic surgery resident who would shadow Dr. Yuen during the surgery.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Before I was given the opportunity to ask Dr. Yuen any questions, he immediately started pelting me with inquiries, such as how many chemo treatments had I endured; whether or not I had experienced harsh side effects; and, had the mass reduced in size since treatments began in late May. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>And, then he began to zero in on a topic from my chart that surprised me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He noticed that I was an insulin dependent <b>diabetic</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“This could change the scope and timing of the surgery,” he said without hesitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could feel the anxiety filling my chest. He asked the range of my blood sugars and I shared that when I took the steroids during and immediately after the chemo treatments (to prevent nausea and vomiting), the levels were as high as 300+&nbsp; (normal is 80-120) and could dramatically drop to lows in the 50s and 40s. “Hmmmmm,” he responded (seldom is that good coming from a doctor). I asked him to explain.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Yuen elaborated that normally mastectomy surgeries are scheduled about four weeks after the last chemotherapy treatment, providing time for&nbsp;the body to recover (somewhat) from the toxic drugs circulating through the system. Because I’m diabetic, I already have a compromised immune system and the chemo drugs further weaken my system and my ability to fight off infections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said implanting foreign objects, such as the temporary expanders in my breasts, would more than likely cause my&nbsp;body to reject the procedure and the implants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said 5% of his breast patients are diabetic and 90% of them who opt for reconstruction simultaneously with the mastectomy have major infections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Some even have to have the devices removed, followed by a lengthy recovery then the procedure is attempted again after ample healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Wow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That revelation rendered me speechless, which isn’t an easy task. (Anyone who knows me will attest to that.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>During my initial appointment with Dr. Klimberg in mid-May, she never indicated that delayed reconstruction could be a possibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My chemo-fuzzed brain had already processed my cancer recovery timeline from diagnosis to the finished process and no where in all that did I factor in a six-month delay after the initial surgery. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>In my timeline, I would have newly constructed ta-tas and be brushing my natural hair no later than March 2014. I was not only disappointed at what I had just been told; I could feel the tachycardia (rapid heart beat) taking over. Dr. Yuen warned me that I would probably endure emotional strife&nbsp;should the decision be&nbsp;made to postpone the reconstruction for six months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Just be prepared,” he cautioned me. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Yuen said if I felt like rolling the dice and going ahead with the simultaneous surgeries, he would support me, but he&nbsp;just wanted me to be aware of what could happen. Don, wearing his medical hat, immediately spoke up and told Dr.Yuen that “we” would do whatever to protect my health and there would be no risk-taking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Suddenly, I became angry at Don for speaking on my behalf. For a moment, I felt like one-half of a ventriloquist act. Because he, too, is a surgeon, as well as my very significant other, he sometimes forgets that I have a voice in all the medical decisions pertaining to my cancer treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I glared at him then told Dr. Yuen that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>I</u></i> would process everything he had told me and let him know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>my</u></i>decision as soon as Dr. Klimberg set the date for the mastectomy surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While I love Don and know he only wants what’s best for me, I’m the one who has to ultimately make the choices that I think are right for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That doesn’t imply I won’t delay the procedure; it just means that I have to be comfortable and mentally prepared for the decision that is made.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don and I said little on the ride from UAMS to my condo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I couldn’t talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Tears were right on the edge of every word that might role off my tongue so I just decided not to even try to converse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It wasn’t anger. It was the surprise of things not going according to plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>You see, I’m the ultimate planner and somewhat of a control freak - a definite type-A personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When someone like me receives a cancer diagnosis, we go just a little crazy because we are no longer in charge of our bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>First, the cancer is in charge prior to the diagnosis, then in order to rid&nbsp;the body of the beast, you turn your immediate life and well-being over to a team of doctors. They are in control for the duration of the treatment. I had it in my head that I could once again be in command of my life sometime in February or March 2014.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Based on what Dr. Yuen had told me, that wasn’t going to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In fact, it would probably be June or July of&nbsp;next year&nbsp;before the reconstruction process would even begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Pardon the pun, but it was a hard pill to swallow. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I reported to work shortly after my appointment with Dr. Yuen and traipsed to my friend Gloria’s office for a cup of coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She asked about the appointment and I tried to share the details with her but just couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I told her I would explain later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I returned to my office, shut the door and the tears flowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sometimes, you just need to cry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Perhaps, it was two months of treatments, more than ten blog compositions and&nbsp;my ongoing attempts to be&nbsp;upbeat for friends and family that helped provoke the tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was emotional for the remainder of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>At times, I thought I was being&nbsp;overly sensitive&nbsp;and&nbsp;slightly self-centered. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>But, it was deeper than that and I couldn’t explain it to anyone, not even Don.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My fourth chemo treatment was scheduled the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I knew I had to shake off the emotions and prepare for another tough day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, this too shall pass…</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-19966823656391966182013-07-01T14:22:00.000-05:002013-07-02T05:22:18.832-05:00Treatment Three: A "Phenomenal" ReportThe third <b>chemo treatment</b> was scheduled on Friday, June 28, rather than my usual Tuesday time slot, due to my oncologist, <b>Dr. Makhoul</b>, being over-booked with new patients. It always saddens me to learn that there are more people coming into the <b>UAMS</b> <b>cancer treatment</b> program than are leaving it. Why must this insidious disease impact the lives of so many?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I am very hopeful that the research being conducted on behalf of cancer patients everywhere will soon prove successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Each day brings with it new possibilities for a cure. I am optimistic that in my lifetime I will&nbsp;help celebrate the day the general population will be able to receive a vaccine and spared&nbsp;the&nbsp;fear and uncertainty of chemotherapy.&nbsp;&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I am especially prayerful that the children of the world will be first on the vaccine list.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HS_zvLvIfys/UdHVLeluipI/AAAAAAAAAGg/LgzJoQ0IfGg/s1280/The+Carmen+Miranda+Look.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, breast cancer, Fayetteville, Arkansas, Little Rock, UAMS" border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HS_zvLvIfys/UdHVLeluipI/AAAAAAAAAGg/LgzJoQ0IfGg/s320/The+Carmen+Miranda+Look.JPG" title="Marla Crider: The &quot;Carmen Miranda&quot; look" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Carmen Miranda" look</td></tr></tbody></table>Each time I report for my twice-monthly blood work and chemotherapy appointments at the <b>Winthrop P.&nbsp;</b><b>Rockefeller (WPR) Cancer Institute</b>, I always see a few new faces among the familiar ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Those of us that have a few treatments under&nbsp;our belts, like me, look at the expressions of the apprehensive ones as we try to figure out which particular cancer has invaded their bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We stand ready to offer verbal guidance or moral support to the fresh, unknowing patients; however, we only answer questions that are asked of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We never intrude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The new ones are easy to detect; they still have their natural hair and a bounce in their step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The rest of us are usually overcome with <b>fatigue</b> and can be easily identified by the <b>baldness</b> of our heads or the stylish headgear that we assume is only temporary.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">For my third treatment, my middle brother, Marion, and sister-in-law,&nbsp;Carolyn, accompanied me through a full afternoon of blood work, an appointment with Dr. Makhoul and the <b>chemo infusion</b>. They&nbsp;made the&nbsp;trip from <st1:place w:st="on">Northwest Arkansas</st1:place>&nbsp;earlier that&nbsp;morning to&nbsp;experience my journey first hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My significant other, Don, was recuperating from a medical situation of his own and couldn’t manage the necessary walking that is a significant part of treatment day. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We arrived for the blood work precisely at 11 a.m. and the waiting room was full of patients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>All of us were in line, so to speak, to get our blood drawn to determine what kind of havoc the previous chemo treatment had inflicted on our bodies. After a 40 minute wait, my name was called by a nurse’s assistant. I was escorted to the scales for my biweekly weigh-in that made me feel somewhat like a prize fighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After all, isn’t that what I was doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fighting the biggest battle of my life? I had dropped a pound but knew that was more about the erratic diabetes than the chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Next, my blood pressure, temperature and pulse were monitored and all seemed to be within range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A few weeks earlier, when I saw my primary care physician about my roller coaster <b>diabetes</b>, he determined that I was also experiencing low blood pressure - 98/62 - and changed the dosage of the lisinopril medication I had been taking for years to protect my kidneys from the potential harmful effects of the diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In addition to the low blood pressure, I was also having symptoms of <b>tachycardia</b> or rapid heart beat, which had been going on since the second chemo treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; My resting heart rate was averaging 106-112 beats per minute.&nbsp; </span>It’s rather disconcerting to be sitting in your office and feel like you have just completed a 10K&nbsp;marathon (ok, in my case a 5K would be more like it), but that’s the way it had been for the past two weeks. I knew this was a symptom that should be discussed with Dr. Makhoul. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After my vital signs had been recorded, the tech asked me to be seated in the third chair in the front section of the infusion room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She said Nurse Mary would be right with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No Mr. Nurse Ratched?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Well, darn, I was ready for him, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had generously dabbed the numbing cream on my chemo port before I left home to ensure my nemesis nurse wouldn’t bring me to my knees in pain, when he jabbed the needle into the ultra sensitive area under my left collarbone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Nurse Mary walked to my chair a few minutes later&nbsp;carrying all the necessary vials for the blood draw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She began swabbing the top of my port to remove the numbing cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I noticed that I could feel very little as the swab moved back and forth across the skin that was usually very tender. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>There are still days that I would like to get my hands on Dr. McDreamy, the port installer, and not for the reasons you might think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The port&nbsp;was&nbsp;definitely positioned&nbsp;on a nerve and sometimes, when I inadvertently brush my hand across it, I have to catch my breath for a few seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s like an electrical shock piercing through my entire body. Ahhh, the curse of Dr. McDreamy.&nbsp; </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As Nurse Mary verbally prepared me for the stick of the short but large gauge needle, I couldn’t feel it at first then she had to bear down to get the needle to penetrate the port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s when I began sliding down the leather recliner in pain, hoping I would be just out of her reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Every time she pushed on the needle, a multitude of electrical shocks rippled through my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She kept apologizing for hurting me but that sure didn’t help the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Finally, the needle made proper contact with the port and the blood began filling the vials, one right after another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Nurse Mary explained that the needle was dull, because she never remembered having to press so hard to get a needle to connect with a port. Well, ain’t that just dandy - a dull needle on top of my usual port calamities. She left the evil needle in the port and taped the little infusion tubes to my chest for the chemo treatment&nbsp;that would take place a few hours later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I escaped the chair of terror and met <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city> and Carolyn in the waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We gathered up our reading material, as well as my carry-all bag that contained details about my life since my May 1 diagnosis, and departed upstairs for my 12 noon appointment with Dr. Makhoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When we got off the elevator and looked in the large, open-air waiting room with the floor to ceiling glass walls, I knew it was going to be another lengthy wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The place was overflowing with patients and family members, all anxious to talk to their oncologists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There were older people in wheelchairs wrapped in light blankets and young people walking on crutches, post-cancer surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Trust me; the disease doesn’t discriminate by age, race or status in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We found three chairs together and began our wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About 45 minutes later, my name was called and Carolyn decided she wanted to accompany me to my meeting with Dr. Makhoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She is the analytical one of the husband-wife duo. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city> is the let’s-just-do-it brother and very much like my father's side of the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A tech ushered us to a cubicle that had Dr. Makhoul’s name affixed to the door frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She left the door open indicating that Brenda, Dr. Makhoul’s efficient nurse, would be popping in soon to inquire about any side effects after treatment two. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Brenda appeared about 15 minutes later and began asking the usual questions. She was still amazed that I hadn’t experienced any harsh side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I did tell her about the tachycardia and she said that Dr. Makhoul would address that with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She gave me a gown and told me to “suit up” for the breast exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was rather excited for Dr. Makhoul to measure the tumor because I could definitely tell a difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was 1:45 p.m. when Dr. Makhoul made a hurried entrance into my cubicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He checked the notes Brenda had left for him in my computerized chart. That’s when he said it. “Ms. Marla, you are a phenomenal patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m impressed with how well you are tolerating the treatments.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(You and me both, Dr. Mak.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He noticed the mention of tachycardia in Brenda’s notes and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>said it’s a side effect of the treatment and that my heart rate “should” return to normal after the treatments are completed, which is anticipated to be another 2 ½ months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I can certainly deal with that along with the <b>night sweats</b>, <b>insomnia</b> and <b>chemo brain</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He did ask how I was sleeping and I had to admit that I wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He told me to take two lorazepam tablets right before bedtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fortunately, Dr. Mak prescribed the anti-anxiety meds prior to my first treatment, so I already had them on hand. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was now time to check the size of the tumor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He pulled out his handy-dandy caliper-like contraption and began to measure the mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He looked at me then back at the caliper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“It’s down to 3.8 centimeters,” he told me excitedly. “This is great, just great,” my magician of a doctor told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“I want to reiterate that you truly are a phenomenal patient.” (I wanted to flippantly tell him that I bet he said that to all the girls, but I couldn’t. I truly did want to be as phenomenal as he kept telling me I was.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“We’re on our way,” he said as he signed my chemo orders and sent me downstairs for treatment three.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Because my chemo team recommends eating a snack before chemo, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marion</st1:place></st1:city>, Carolyn and I stopped by the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;WPR Cancer Institute cafeteria for&nbsp;something to tide us over&nbsp;until dinner time.&nbsp;</span>We arrived in the infusion center and it had cleared out considerably since the late morning hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Only a few minutes had passed when my name was called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Carolyn and I made our way to the assigned recliner in the infusion room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I settled into the chair and made myself as comfortable as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Carolyn was sitting in the visitor chair beside me so she could see everything that was happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, then he approached…Mr. Nurse Ratched was going to be my nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had made a bet with Carolyn that he would say something about my hair and/or wig first thing and he didn’t disappoint me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“I really like the wig,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What had gotten into him over the past two weeks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Was it because there was someone different sitting beside me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He was actually being empathetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Hmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was suspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b1YgDIFhQaM/UdHWFUMoxoI/AAAAAAAAAG0/wGY1BNs6Gwc/s1521/Brother+Marion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b1YgDIFhQaM/UdHWFUMoxoI/AAAAAAAAAG0/wGY1BNs6Gwc/s320/Brother+Marion.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brother, Marion Crider</td></tr></tbody></table>&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He quickly hooked me up to the red, <b>adriamycin</b> as usual and allowed it to drip faster than I remembered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could feel the cold, red toxin as it made its way from the hanging bag to my port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As soon as it hit my system, I could sense the nasty, metallic taste on the back of my tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I quickly grabbed a piece of gum to counteract the bitterness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Seated in a recliner across from me was a young woman who looked to be in her 30s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She had a bright pink scarf tied around her bald head with a large pink flower affixed to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; She nodded at me. We had seen each other earlier in Dr. Makhoul's waiting room. </span>I asked her how many treatments she had endured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She said ten treatments with another eight to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I responded that it was my third treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my anticipated treatment schedule would be shorter than hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Carolyn and I watched her pretty eyes fight back tears when she told us that surgery might not be an option in her case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“The doctors aren’t sure it will do much good," she bravely shared with us. And then her tears flowed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It devastated me to think that such a young, beautiful woman might not have a good prognosis after all the wear and tear of chemo on her&nbsp;body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It just wasn't&nbsp;fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her honesty subdued me to the point that I refrained from my usual banter with Mr. Nurse Ratched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was as if he knew exactly what was going on and was rather quiet himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After the adriamycin had trickled the last drop into my veins, Mr. Nurse Ratched hooked me up to the <b>cytoxin</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He turned it on full blast and I could feel the sneeze-like burn in my nose, which is a usual reaction. It was at this point that Carolyn switched places with my brother and he came to sit with me as the last of the toxins were&nbsp;being fed&nbsp;into my body. As we sat together, I couldn’t take my eyes off the 30-something woman across from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>At that moment, I thought she was the bravest person I had ever met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>About 20 minutes later, Mr. Nurse Ratched returned to disconnect the empty cytoxin bag, flush out my port, and remove the pesky, painful&nbsp;needle, which wasn’t nearly as bad coming out as it was&nbsp;going in&nbsp;a few hours earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He loaded me up with&nbsp;the usual<b> anti-nausea</b> steroids and sent me on my way but not before reminding me that I was scheduled for a <b>Neulasta</b> shot at 3 p.m. the next day. Before I left the infusion room, I walked over to the young woman, who&nbsp;had told me she would&nbsp;be there another hour, and squeezed her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was the silent code between two fighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Marion, Carolyn and I departed UAMS after a very long afternoon of waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When we returned to my condo, it was easy to tell that we were all fatigued, not just me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What troopers they had been, as well as being a very good support system on treatment day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was exhausted and ready for bed at 9 p.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; Before retiring for the night, </span>I took the two lorazepam tablets as Dr. Makhoul suggested and slept until 4 a.m. – my longest stretch of sleep for more than a month. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>When I awoke, the bright-eyed, young woman was still on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her admission had made me step back and take another long look at my own mortality, which I hadn’t really had time to do since first hearing the “C” word thrown at me nearly two months earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yes, it’s a fact that I do have cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; It is also a fact that I </span>have the best <b>breast cancer</b> treatment team in all of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Arkansas</st1:state></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; And it's</span>&nbsp;a fact that with every ounce of my being I<strong>&nbsp;<i>will</i></strong> be a cancer survivor, not a statistic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The only way I know how to combat this destructive disease is with attitude…a salty, defiant attitude. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The young woman I had encountered the day before inspired me to wrap my balding head in a festive scarf, just as she had, with a flower atop, rather than be confined to a hot, synthetic wig, especially on weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I made a trip to Stein Mart, which is located dangerously close to my condo, and purchased several scarves and three obnoxiously large clip-on flowers to add pizzazz to my newly acquired head wraps. I had made up my mind that I would start wearing scarves, occasionally, in honor of her – the nameless and brave young lady that I will not forget anytime soon.</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-16946333982390285282013-06-24T09:48:00.000-05:002013-06-24T09:48:06.235-05:00Chemo Brain: That's My Story and I'm Sticking to It<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nvNGxVH7Pmc/UchbUybETMI/AAAAAAAAAGI/FAqXR1y3gOo/s1600/Jimmy+Dean+Sausage+Muffin+-+Well+Done.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, Fayetteville, Clinton, breast cancer, patient stories" border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nvNGxVH7Pmc/UchbUybETMI/AAAAAAAAAGI/FAqXR1y3gOo/s320/Jimmy+Dean+Sausage+Muffin+-+Well+Done.jpg" title="Marla Crider: Chemo Brain: That's My Story and I'm Sticking to it." width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My charred Jimmy Dean muffin</td></tr></tbody></table>Ahhhh, summer… The season officially kicked off on Friday, June 21, when the longest day of the year proved to be all that and much more for the author of this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Thursday produced another restless night prompted by profuse <b>sweating&nbsp;and insomnia</b>. I managed to get about two hours of sleep, then gave up all hope of catching a few additional hours of shut-eye about 2:30 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I retreated from my bedroom to the great room, where reading, listening to music and drinking Sleepytime (Yea, right) hot tea had become my new normal. I heard the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arkansas Democrat-Gazette</i> hit my front door at its usual time of 4:30 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was eager for new, more current reading material. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>After just a few minutes of scanning the newspaper, I began having difficulty concentrating on the words in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was as if my brain was hesitating and couldn’t translate what the eye was seeing to the human computer between my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This frustrating experience seemed to be happening more frequently since the chemotherapy drugs - <b>adriamycin and cytoxin</b> - were first injected into my system in late May. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Friends who recently completed <b>chemotherapy</b> and are now <b>cancer survivors</b> have shared stories with me about the phenomenon referenced as <b>"chemo brain."</b>&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Symptoms include <b>forgetting words</b>in the middle of a spoken or written sentence; being unusually <b>disorganized</b>; a <b>short attention span</b>; <b>difficulty multitasking</b>; a constant state of <b>confusion</b>; and, <b>short term memory</b> issues. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>There was no question that after only two treatments, I possessed many of the classic signs of chemo brain. Well, that's just great.&nbsp;&nbsp;Now, I have to contend with no hair <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> an impaired brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After my futile attempts&nbsp;at reading&nbsp;the Friday morning newspaper, I decided to take a shower and dress for what I expected to be a busy day at the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The end of the state’s fiscal year was quickly approaching and with it comes a multitude of accounting and year-end purchasing tasks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could only hope that my brain was up for the challenge. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Typically, my day begins about 7:30 a.m., when I occupy my office, turn on the computer and prepare for an onslaught of email messages and questions from the staff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Before tackling my responsibilities, I unlocked the door to the staff break room and decided to microwave a Jimmy Dean breakfast - turkey sausage and egg on English muffin - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>to lessen the potential hypoglycemic effects of the insulin I injected 30 minutes earlier. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I wrapped my breakfast in a paper towel and placed it in the microwave and proceeded to key in 1 minute and 30 seconds on defrost as the directions instructed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I was feeling rather sluggish and decided a cup of java was necessary to get me through the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My friend Gloria’s office is the central location for fresh coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Since she is the executive assistant to the Department’s executive director, there is always coffee available should legislators or constituents&nbsp;show up&nbsp;for a meeting with “Mr. Big” and request a little caffeine boost. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I walked into Gloria’s office, she looked up and started a conversation about my newest wig, which was celebrating its coming out party on the first day of summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>After a quick chat about the color and style of my synthetic locks, I filled my coffee mug and headed to the break room to retrieve my breakfast sandwich.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I knew something was amiss when I didn’t hear the microwave beeping, indicating that my Jimmy Dean muffin was defrosted and ready for a quick ride on the microwave carousel for an additional minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(With chemo brain, I have also noticed that “chemo mouth” comes into play, as well.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Oh, shit…shit, shit, shit,” I said repeatedly and loudly as I walked over to the microwave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could see smoke inside the oven and immediately hit the cancel button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Not thinking (duh… I hadn’t done that clearly in almost a month!), I opened the microwave door for a split second to glance at my damaged breakfast.&nbsp;I immediately shut it when I saw a quick puff of sausage and egg-laced smoke billow out. And then the longest day of the year became just that….</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-X2O2KoD70/Uchb0DiZ1dI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Vz9QSJ8kCR0/s1600/1024px-Arkansas_State_Capitol_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="136" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-X2O2KoD70/Uchb0DiZ1dI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Vz9QSJ8kCR0/s320/1024px-Arkansas_State_Capitol_2.jpg" title="The expansive Arkansas State Capitol grounds" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The expansive Arkansas State Capitol grounds</td></tr></tbody></table>It was approximately 7:50 a.m. when both the interior and exterior fire alarms positioned throughout the State Capitol Complex started sounding. In addition, emergency lights flashed like a 1980s disco bar and the most obnoxious, pre-recorded female voice in the history of pre-recorded messages repeated over and over, “An emergency has been reported, please evacuate the building” or some variation thereof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Stunned at what was happening, I walked into the hallway and told everyone that I was the culprit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About that time, the Department’s designated safety officer approached and I explained it was smoke from the microwave and there was no fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She called building security and shared my story but the spokesman said everyone still had to evacuate per policy, which was exactly what was happening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>When I looked outside our offices into the atrium of the 5-story, Multi-Agency Complex (Big MAC for short), people were spilling out of their offices to their assigned reporting stations, located at various points throughout the expansive State Capitol grounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As luck would have it, Mr. Big (not quite the Sex in the City version) and I bumped into each other in the hallway just as the alarm started sounding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I fessed up immediately and declared that I was the guilty party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He started laughing and said, “See you at the bell,” which was the Department’s designated site, located just north of the State Capitol. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Tourism Director Joe David Rice and I, as well as a few other staff members, all exited out the front door of the building and walked towards the bell. I could hear people griping about a fire drill before the official start of the work day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Others were thankful for the extra smoke break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(It was difficult to hold my tongue when I heard that one.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>As the staff, Joe David and I approached our destination, it was already apparent that wig-wearing Marla had a new reputation as the state employee who single handedly shut down state government with a Jimmy Dean breakfast muffin. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>As we walked towards the bell, I did what any guilt-laden person would do; I took a bow to applause and laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As we joined other Department employees, I quickly defended myself by explaining that I had cancer and suffered from chemo brain and wasn’t responsible for my actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Everyone started laughing because Mr. Big had already bet the group I would use that exact justification. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Almost ten minutes had passed and the pre-recorded message was still blaring over the loud speakers. People continued to pour out of buildings, including the State Capitol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I watched nearly 1,000 employees cover the grounds of the vast state government campus, I recited a prayer over and over&nbsp;to myself, “Please, Lord, don’t let Governor Beebe be among those forced to leave their offices.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was envisioning an early retirement. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There was something unusual about this evacuation from previous fire drills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We had been outside for nearly 15 minutes and there had been no sign of any fire trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even Mr. Big commented about the lack of emergency vehicles. I continued to field jokes from every direction as we waited…and waited… and waited for the “all clear” sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Twenty minutes into this never-live-it-down fiasco, we finally heard the sound of sirens,&nbsp;signaling the Little Rock Fire Department was on its way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I saw two fire trucks, then the huge snorkel truck turn the corner, I was mortified and terribly regretful for whatever transpired between the Jimmy Dean muffin and the microwave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Approximately 40 minutes after the first fire alarm sounded, we were told it was safe to return to our offices. I requested that a human shield surround me as we walked back to the Big MAC building in case I was targeted by an irate state employee who wasn’t familiar with my positive, easy-going demeanor or my pre-cancer, pre-chemo common sense.&nbsp;My colleagues complied.<br /><br />Dozens of people asked me what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The only thing I could figure out was that my nimble fingers entered 11 minutes and 30 seconds on the microwave keypad, instead of 1 minute and 30 seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Everything happened so fast, I wasn’t really sure about the details.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When Gloria and I re-entered the Big MAC building, there were several firemen in the hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I avoided eye contact for fear they would whisk me away and make an example out of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We entered the front door to the Department and were overwhelmed by a putrid odor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>How could one breakfast sandwich cause such a ruckus, I wondered. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I decided to return to the scene of the incident only to find the charred remains of my breakfast exposed on the microwave table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; I said a quick prayer because it was apparent that a potential disaster was averted.&nbsp;&nbsp;As I stared at what was left of the sandwich, m</span>y chemo-impaired brain&nbsp;tried to comprehend all that had happened in a mere 45 minutes. As I shoved the blackened Jimmy Dean muffin into the trash can, an Arkansas Building Authority representative walked into the break room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He asked if I was responsible for what had happened; I admitted that I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said he would remove the trash bag, which would help eliminate the foul smell in the front section of offices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thanked him then he told me that an incident report would have to be filed detailing the morning’s events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I gave him my business card, which contained&nbsp;all the requested information. I immediately explained to him that I was undergoing chemotherapy and my decision-making skills were impaired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I also told him if he attempted to chastise or lecture me, I could guarantee that I would burst into tears, which was true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said he understood and left with my business card in hand.&nbsp;Geez… an incident report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; Apparently, I was going to have a "record" of sorts.</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, I passed a State Capitol police officer in the Department hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span> I avoided eye contact as he walked past me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He did an about face and returned to the desk of a staff member.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He&nbsp;asked who he should talk to about the “incident.” I saw her glance my way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I walked up and identified myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He wanted me to know that a report would have to be filed. (Hearing the term “incident report” twice in less than five minutes made me wonder if a mug shot would soon follow.)&nbsp; I handed him a business card. The officer went on to tell me there was actually a silver lining to the&nbsp;microwave debacle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He said the fire alarm system malfunctioned and didn’t automatically dispatch the Little Rock Fire Department as programmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He explained that was the reason for the extended wait in the morning heat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The State Capitol Police Department&nbsp;was forced to manually dispatch the fire department, which should never happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Officer Nice Guy indicated the faulty alarm system would be the focus of the incident report, rather than my inability to accurately punch time into a microwave keypad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thanked him for attempting to make my day a little brighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He smiled and told me not to worry about it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Sure, I thought, no need to be stressed about&nbsp;the role I&nbsp;played in&nbsp;emptying state government offices for 45 minutes and becoming the butt of endless jokes every time an emergency vehicle approached the State Capitol.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When the work day finally ended and I walked to the waiting elevator, I heard a co-worker say, “Have a good weekend, Muffin.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My punishment had begun and would undoubtedly continue for years to come.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I learned the hard way that chemo brain is real and can lead to risky behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s a side effect of chemotherapy that can complicate the simplest tasks. From forgetting a word mid-sentence to finding it difficult to recall a colleague’s name when standing face-to-face with the person, chemo brain is ever present in those of us undergoing treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We can only hope that friends, family and co-workers understand when we sometimes look at them blankly. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.</div><br />Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-18651248613166578872013-06-17T13:49:00.000-05:002013-06-17T13:49:17.071-05:00Cancer and Chemo: No Place for Vanity<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v_GqH78xPzE/Ub9YRwFcoPI/AAAAAAAAAFs/CmTLSCb2ZG0/s1600/Hiar+Cut.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, Fayetteville, Arkansas, Little Rock, UAMS, breast cancer, hair loss, diabetes" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v_GqH78xPzE/Ub9YRwFcoPI/AAAAAAAAAFs/CmTLSCb2ZG0/s320/Hiar+Cut.JPG" title="Marla Crider: Cancer and Chemo: No place for vanity" width="192" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Haircut&nbsp;</td></tr></tbody></table>It was June 13, the seventeenth day after my first <b>chemo treatment</b>; the day I realized that Mr. Nurse Ratched was right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The second infusion of <b>adriamycin</b> was going to take its toll on my once healthy, thick head of hair&nbsp;(Drat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I hate it when he’s right.).<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As I dressed for work that morning, I realized that the term “fixin” my hair no longer meant what it did a mere 24 hours earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I moved the brush gently through my thinning locks, I hesitantly looked at what used to be my abundant mane tangled within the bristles of the brush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My unemotional response surprised me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I collected the wad of salt and pepper strands from the spine of the brush, walked out on my balcony and scattered the hair for the nest-making birds to find&nbsp;(I did that several times and felt like I had made a major contribution to Habitat for Feathered Friends).</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After that eventful <b>hair-brushing</b> episode, I knew that a visit to my hair stylist was imminent. I asked myself: Should I get a close-cropped “do” or go ahead and shear what remained. I decided to take the recommendation of the professional with whom I had a noon appointment that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When Michael, my stylist, brushed through my hair, the loose strands went flying everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Even with that drama, he determined that we should cut it shorter and try to keep a little of the hair for as long as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(Only Mr. Nurse Ratched and the chemo gods knew how long that might be.) I agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>When I returned to the office, my colleagues commented that the cut was “cute” and “practical” under the circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I appreciated their verbal support, although I knew they were just being kind.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Friday night, June 14, was one of those restless occasions when the <b>night sweats and insomnia</b>decided to make it an all night affair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I never fell asleep and made the decision to get out of bed about 2:45 a.m., instead of tossing and turning for two or three more hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I made coffee and read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>About 5:30 a.m., I felt that a shower might rejuvenate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>When I stepped out of the tub and looked in the mirror, while gently towel-drying my hair, there it was - <b>bald</b>gaps in my otherwise very short hairstyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There were no tears, no real emotion. <b>Losing my hair</b> really wasn't about vanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was just further confirmation that I have <b>cancer</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My <b>balding</b> head was merely the “fallout” from the treatment that will eventually cure me. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I stared in the looking glass for quite some time then shrugged my shoulders and determined that it was probably going to be a baseball cap-wearing weekend, or I might even don one of the fun and <b>fashionable wigs</b> that I had ordered in advance of my pending alopecia.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;No doubt, i</span>t was time for me&nbsp;to swallow my pride and participate in a grooming decision that hundreds of thousands of women in treatment deal with every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>This just happened to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> day.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Later that morning, I packed a small bag, placed a baseball cap on my&nbsp;shiny head and&nbsp;departed for&nbsp;<st1:city w:st="on">Hot Springs</st1:city>and some R &amp; R at Don’s house on <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Hamilton</st1:placename></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>It’s the place where I can exhale and nothing is expected of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I must point out that I have never been a wearer of caps, or any hats for that matter, except on Derby Day at Oaklawn Race Track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Ironically, I always had too much hair to wear head gear&nbsp;appropriately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I walked into Don’s house and he saw the cap, he knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“It looks fine,” he told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>As I removed the cap for him to get a closer view of my little, bare head, he was surprised that I had lost so much hair in a few short days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But he hugged me and reiterated that it was just a temporary inconvenience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OsMh-zxq02c/Ub9YmL3slwI/AAAAAAAAAF0/u7qP4nRaeWM/s1600/The+Irish+Setter+Look.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, Fayetteville, Arkansas, Little Rock, UAMS, breast cancer, hair loss" border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OsMh-zxq02c/Ub9YmL3slwI/AAAAAAAAAF0/u7qP4nRaeWM/s320/The+Irish+Setter+Look.JPG" title="Marla Crider: The &quot;Irish Setter&quot; look" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Irish Setter" look</td></tr></tbody></table>That evening, we decided to go to dinner in downtown <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hot Springs</st1:place></st1:city> at one of our favorite restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I&nbsp;packed a strawberry blonde wig just in case we left the security of Don’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Keep in mind that I am a brunette with green eyes and have never felt compelled to experiment with hair color over the years; however, I decided that taking a fun and frivolous approach to counteracting the effects of the cancer treatment would be okay and even forgiven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Was I going to look attractive as a strawberry blonde “babe?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Probably not, but it’s one way - my way - of coping with this crisis.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I took my time dressing for dinner and left the wig preparation and styling for last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Don was watching the U.S. Open Golf Tournament in another room and was unaware that he was about to be introduced to a new girlfriend with strawberry blonde hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I pulled the wig on and spent several minutes brushing and spritzing it so I wouldn't resemble an aging Irish Setter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I added big earrings and a necklace to my outfit and decided it was time for the big reveal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When I entered the great room, Don was cheering on Phil Mickelson as he made another birdie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I walked into his line of sight and his expression was beyond priceless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“Wow,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“I really, really&nbsp;like the look"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;(OK, one "really" was enough).&nbsp;</span>Whether that was Don being his usual caring, compassionate self or if he was being honest is still the great unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Regardless, he’s now aware that for the next eight months or so, he will never know which girlfriend will be at his side.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Several times during dinner, I noticed Don staring at me. I knew it wasn't just the wig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I can only imagine how difficult it must be for a dynamic, confident man like Don to look at the woman he loves and not recognize her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Because he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> a physician, the changes in my physical appearance and emotional demeanor are less of a surprise to him than to me. This adventure (and it is definitely an adventure) has proven one thing: Even though we aren't married, we understand implicitly the phrase, “in sickness and in health.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-11422243434802854252013-06-14T09:38:00.000-05:002013-06-14T15:43:57.890-05:00Treatment Two - Good News and Great News!The second <b>chemotherapy treatment</b> was scheduled on June 11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was also the day I would receive the long awaited results from the PET and brain scans.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I learned quickly that the first order of business on treatment day is to report for blood work in the <b>UAMS Winthrop Paul Rockefeller Cancer Institute</b> infusion center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The blood is quickly processed with the results forwarded to <b>Dr. Makhoul</b> in time for my scheduled appointment with him. <br /><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zN4uTEf8fF0/UbsppLrkohI/AAAAAAAAAFU/SmAisr-ti60/s1600/Marla+-+Treatment+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Marla Crider, Little Rock, Arkansas, breast cancer, patient stories, Clinton" border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zN4uTEf8fF0/UbsppLrkohI/AAAAAAAAAFU/SmAisr-ti60/s320/Marla+-+Treatment+2.jpg" title="Marla Crider receiving chemo treatment number 2 at UAMS " width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider, chemo treatment #2</td></tr></tbody></table>After I signed in at the <b>infusion center</b>, Don and I waited a little longer than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The waiting area was overflowing with patients waiting for blood draws, as well as their chemo&nbsp;treatments<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I observed a young, Hispanic girl sitting in the corner of the room in a recliner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A wheelchair was located directly in front of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her mother was seated on one side of her and a male companion on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She was eating French fries very slowly and drinking a milk shake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I noticed that her cheeks were very swollen, probably from the steroids given to prevent nausea and vomiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Within a few minutes, a tech called the young lady’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I noticed that the male accompanying her had gently removed the food from her hands, then slowly lifted her under her arms and moved the patient into the wheelchair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was only then that I noticed she had a major scar on her skull, which explained her inability to walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I watched the male attendant wheel her into the infusion room for her umpteenth chemo treatment, I told myself that my problems were minimal compared to what this young lady was facing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I said a prayer for my waiting room acquaintance that happens to share a <b>cancer diagnosis</b> with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>You see, we are all family, even if we have never met.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">A few minutes later, I heard someone announce “<b>Marla Fay Crider</b>” from the infusion room door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My mind immediately retreated to my childhood years, when my mother, Happy, would call out my full name because of something I probably shouldn't have done or when she was trying to find me at a neighbor’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even today, few people call me by my full name - mostly childhood friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>So, when I turned around, I was halfway expecting to see one of those childhood friends in the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But, no, it was <a href="http://www.marlacrider.com/2013/06/treatment-day-and-mr-nurse-ratched.html">Mr. Nurse Ratched.</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Immediately, I thought, “Why me, Lord?”</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I met my nemesis at the door, where he immediately began barking orders at me. He reminded me that the first order of business on my return visits every two weeks is to step on the scales and get weighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I complied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He marked on my chart that I had lost four pounds then wanted to know why I had lost weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Nausea? Vomiting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No. No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I explained that my roller-coaster blood sugars contributed to the loss of weight. That generated a “humph” from Mr. Nurse Ratched. As we were walking to my assigned recliner for the blood work, he asked, “Is that your <b>hair</b> I still see on your head?” I didn’t miss a beat and replied, “Interesting that you noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I would like to remind you that this is day 15 after the first chemo treatment and I still have my hair.” He asked, “Is it <b>thinning</b>?” Darn it, I was going to have to fess up that it was – by the handfuls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Being the curmudgeon that he is, he gloated and said, “I bet the second treatment gets it all.” (I could almost hear him laughing like the Joker in a Batman movie.) </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I settled into my assigned recliner and Mr. Nurse Ratched starting pulling tubes and butterfly needles from the cabinet drawers beside me&nbsp;.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He asked me to expose my port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Damn!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thought they would take it from my arm, like the last time. He could see the anxiety in my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“You didn’t put the numbing cream on the <b>port site</b>, did you?” I shook my head no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“I bet you don’t forget to do it the next time after I stick you this week,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, before I had time to catch my breath, Mr. Nurse Ratched forced the rather large needle into my port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was extremely uncomfortable. The old fart said, “Hurt didn’t it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Hell, yes, it hurt and was still hurting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He drew the amount of blood he wanted and attached tubes to the port for the infusion of chemo a few hours later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“See?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We won’t have to re-stick you later.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Did he really think that little tidbit of conversation was going to make up for him bringing me to my knees in pain only seconds earlier?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He told me I was all done and he would see me later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I wonder if he could see the look of dread on face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Must have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He was smiling at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If this was his way of flirting with me, I felt like turning him into the Match.com police or the equivalent thereof.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">After making it out of the infusion room without kneeing my cocky, male RN in the testicles, Don and I were now ready for the appointment with Dr. Makhoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We were actually about 15 minutes early when I signed in with the receptionist.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 40 minutes had passed when I finally heard my last name – <b>Crider</b> - called out. (Take note, Mr. Nurse Ratched.)</div><o:p></o:p><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We were escorted to one of the cubicles marked with “Dr. Makhoul” on a nameplate. The usual routine is that Brenda, Dr. Makhoul’s handy-dandy RN, will come in first and ask questions pertaining to side effects and any other “oddities” after the first chemo treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Brenda has a very engaging personality and quickly puts her patients at ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She started pelting me with questions:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Any nausea or vomiting? No. <b>Night sweats</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Hell, yes. <b>Insomnia</b>? Absolutely! <b>Hair loss</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We’re still debating that one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She filled in all the responses on the computer that Dr. Makhoul would be accessing later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Before leaving the room, Brenda asked me to take off my top and put on a gown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul would want to examine me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I asked if he had an intern with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She said she hadn’t seen one during the morning rotations, but he might have one for the afternoon appointments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I put in a special request for a male intern, since the ta-tas would be examined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I just hate wasting that experience on a female intern. That comment did generate an eye roll from Don and an outburst of laughter from Brenda. I disrobed and waited.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Makhoul made a quick entry into my cubicle and with a male intern, I might add.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I love <b>UAMS</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Ask, and you shall receive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He immediately went to the computer and started reviewing my online file. Hmmmmm, he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No serious side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said the precedent had been set and I would probably be free of <b>nausea and vomiting </b>for the duration of my <b>chemotherapy</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I clapped like a little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(The <b>anti-nausea regimen</b> of meds really does the trick, at least for me.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He basically told me I would have to endure the night sweats and insomnia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’ll take that over nausea any day of the week!</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Next, Dr. Makhoul started pulling up the test results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>First, the brain scan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“You have one and it looks just like cauliflower on the image and it’s cancer free," he laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I clapped like a little girl, again.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I couldn’t contain my eagerness to know about the PET scan and asked about it next. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He reiterated that the right breast was glowing brightly, which we expected from his general review two weeks earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The spot in the colon turned out to be a misalignment on the scan. He was convinced it was a false reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Yippee!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>More hand-clapping from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul did say there was some inflammation in a lymph node under the right arm pit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Don quickly jumped in with his medical demeanor and asked if the inflammation could have been from the lymph node needle biopsy I received just days prior to the PET scan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>“Very well could be,” he said.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then, Dr. Makhoul and the scruffy-bearded male intern, who looked a little like Doogie Howser, M.D., examined me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He checked the lymph nodes in my neck and listened to my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He then pulled the measuring device for sizing the tumor out of his pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Mak measured the tumor vertically then looked up at me with surprise. He looked back down at the device and said, “I believe it’s shrunk one whole centimeter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He marveled that it was incredible results after only one treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He gauged the size of the tumor as 4.6 centimeters (down from 5.6) by 4.2 centimeters (reduced from 5.2 centimeters).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was lots of hand-clapping on my part at that revelation and even a verbal “Yippee.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Mak stated that if we continued to see these kinds of results every two weeks, the tumor would basically be gone at the end of the eighth and final treatment, which is exactly what the breast surgeon, <b>Dr. Suzanne Klimberg</b>, had hoped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The masterful Dr. Makhoul did caution me that we shouldn’t get the cart before the horse because cancer does its own “thing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said it may get to the fourth or fifth treatment and refuse to shrink any further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He just wanted to prepare me for that possibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul provided me with some great news and I wasn’t going to let that one comment deter me from my “afterglow.” <br /><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs7TGd1EqQs/UbsqUXFshPI/AAAAAAAAAFc/1qYwpPioyYg/s1600/Marla+and+Don.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs7TGd1EqQs/UbsqUXFshPI/AAAAAAAAAFc/1qYwpPioyYg/s320/Marla+and+Don.JPG" width="228" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Crider and Dr. Don Vowell</td></tr></tbody></table>There was one last pressing question that Don wanted to ask Dr. Mak pertaining to the markers in the tumor, meaning what, if any, receptors attached themselves to the breast tumor when the original needle biopsy was performed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>For example, if estrogen was a receptor, I would be treated with Tamoxifin for several years to ward off a recurrence of breast cancer in the left breast or from cancer<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></b><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">metastasizing</span><span lang="EN"> </span>in another part of my body. Unfortunately, my breast tumor was negative to any receptors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>However, Dr. Mak offered a ray of hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He said that I might be a good candidate for a <b>breast cancer vaccine</b> that UAMS is close to putting into the trial stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sign me up!<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Dr. Mak asked me one last question before he left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He wanted to know how the <b>fatigue</b> was affecting me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I explained that the fatigue I was currently experiencing was insomnia driven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He warned me that after the second treatment and, especially after the third, I would really begin to feel the effects and not to fight it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He encouraged me to leave work when I felt like the proverbial “brick wall” was approaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I assured him that I would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don and I reported to the infusion center again and prepared for treatment two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My name was called quickly by a tech and she escorted us to a recliner in the front section.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I scoped the place and didn’t see any signs of Mr. Nurse Ratched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Suddenly, sweet and lovely RN greeted me and I exhaled with relief that she would be the one administering the toxin. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I settled into my chair and she quickly gave me the anti-nausea pills (bless their little hearts) and hooked me up to the red poison, <b>Adriamycin</b>, otherwise known as the hair-follicle-killer. It took about 15-20 minutes for the concoction to drip into my veins and do its magic of killing the cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Following the Adriamycin, I was given <b>cytoxin</b>, which took about 35-40 minutes to dispense. After she flushed my aching port, sweet and lovely RN gently (did you hear that Mr. Nurse Ratched? <i>Gently</i>.) removed the needle and sent Don and me on our way.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I arrived home where my wonderful brother, Mike, and sister-in-law, Barb, had spent the day cleaning my condo, not because it needed it (they said), but as a gesture of making me feel more comfortable when I returned from treatment number two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I am blessed to have such a loving and supportive family as I continue through this journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Truly blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, based on the great news I received from Dr. Makhoul regarding the reduced tumor size, their prayers and those from other friends and acquaintances have made the difference in my status. I am grateful. Very, very&nbsp;grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My office gal pal, Gloria, drove me to UAMS the following day, June 12, to receive the dreaded <b>Neulasta</b> shot for stimulating the bone marrow to make an over abundance of white cells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Makhoul told me if I had side effects from the first shot on day seven the last time to count on that being the routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He mentioned in our appointment that the cancer team likes to keep the white cell count at about 15,000 and gave me a pat on the back because my white blood count was at 17,000.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A new RN appeared at my chair to administer the shot.&nbsp; She was pleasant but unfamiliar with my chart.&nbsp; It took her a few minutes to get up to speed. While waiting for the shot, Gloria got a glimpse of Mr. Nurse Ratched and is in agreement with me regarding his crotchety ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m going to “break” him before this journey is over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m determined. And, I'm going to kick cancer's butt while I'm at it.</div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970056566013930425.post-61660991264775282542013-06-06T12:44:00.000-05:002013-06-15T05:21:20.096-05:00Chemo: Beware the Trojan HorseFollowing is a day-by-day account of&nbsp;Marla Crider's&nbsp;<b>post-chemo reactions</b> and <b>side effects</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The first treatment was May 28 and the days following were a true learning experience.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">May 29</b> – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I slept well after my first <b>chemo treatment</b> and had no <b>nausea</b> or <b>vomiting</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I contributed that to taking the <b>anti-nausea drugs</b> as prescribed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I awakened at 5:30 a.m., my brother, Mike, and Don were up and anxious to see how I fared through the night..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We were all pleasantly surprised at my announcement of “fine.” I was more concerned that my 23 year-old feline companion, Fluffy Sue, was not on my bed as usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Instead, I found her sitting quietly on her favorite chair in the living room, where she had been most of the night. Still unstable after her near-death experience two days earlier, I offered her food that she would only eat from my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She drank a little water then just kept staring at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She seemed to be searching my face for some sign that I was feeling okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I petted and reassured her then she returned to her chair in the living room.</i><br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a4eDdtgjf3M/UbDJWS5dFII/AAAAAAAAAE0/2GQloHC5mXM/s1600/ExhaustedWoman_illus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marla crider, marlacrider.com, breast cancer, patient stories, chemo" border="0" height="280" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a4eDdtgjf3M/UbDJWS5dFII/AAAAAAAAAE0/2GQloHC5mXM/s320/ExhaustedWoman_illus.jpg" title="Marla Crider: Who Me? A breast cancer patient's story: Fatigue" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beware the chemo induced insomnia and fatigue.</td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At 10 a.m., I reported to the <b>UAMS infusion center</b> for the <b>Neulasta shot</b> prescribed to <b>stimulate the bone marrow</b> and make additional <b>white blood cells</b> for fighting off <b>potential infections</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When the nurse’s assistant called me back to the infusion room, I could only wonder which nurse would inject me – the lovely and sweet RN, who introduced me to the port numbing cream, or Mr. Nurse Ratched, my hair loss antagonist. It was the lovely RN, who greeted me at my assigned recliner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She already had the needle and vial in hand and was ready to give me the injection – in the stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Some might be frightened at this prospect; however, I give myself insulin shots in the belly each morning, so this was no big deal. She quickly gave me the injection and reminded me that I could experience pain in the leg bones, spine and pelvis area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Okay, I thought to myself, I get the message; pain may pay me a visit.</i><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Before leaving UAMS, I took the prescription that <b>Dr. Makhoul</b> had written for a <b>“cranial prosthesis”</b> and visited the <b>wig</b> shop, where I would receive one free wig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Not about to give in to Mr. Nurse Ratched’s prediction that my <b>hair would fall out</b> on the 13<sup>th</sup> day after the first treatment, I still wanted to be prepared should it actually happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The volunteers in the shop were terrific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They worked with me for nearly an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We decided on a short-styled wig in&nbsp;a color similar&nbsp;to my dark brown and silver locks, but it would have to be ordered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was in a race for time with the wig manufacturer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don and I returned home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I decided not to report to work the first day after chemo just to make sure that I was in the comfort of my home, rather than the office, should side effects strike. As the day progressed, I continued to be elated that I had not experienced any signs of nausea or pain from the <b>Neulasta injection</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>So far, so good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I tried to rest during the day but wasn’t really tired or sleepy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was told to check my blood sugar often, since some of the anti-nausea medications were steroid-based and could have dire affects on an insulin dependent diabetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was stunned my blood sugar levels were in the high 200s and that was after taking my usual units that morning along with the oral meds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This wasn’t good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had three days of steroid meds to take and this was going to be an issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I contacted my primary care physician and he instructed me to increase the oral meds and leave the insulin units the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Okay, he’s the doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">As I lounged on the couch like a slug, Fluffy jumped on me and curled up on my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She was comforting me, which was so like her. She purred occasionally but there was no question that my girl was in distress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Don could see my concern and, without me&nbsp;uttering a word, he said, “Renal failure doesn’t cause pain, just organ failure.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There he goes again, telling me all the things I really didn’t want to hear but knew were necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Throughout the day, I continued to take the anti-nausea meds as prescribed and was still feeling fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I made plans to go to the office the next day.<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">May 30 – </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Another nausea-free night made me giddy and ready for a day at the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I checked my fasting blood sugar when I woke up and it was nearly 300 (normal is 80-120).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I had eaten very little the night before only because I wasn’t hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This was extremely frustrating for someone who managed her diabetes very well in the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I consumed some scrambled eggs just to keep my strength up and prepared to increase my insulin units to counteract the impact of the steroids on my blood sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; My remedy, not my primary care physician. </span>Don was concerned, as well,&nbsp;but reminded me that this was one of the side effects I was told to expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It seemed that my issues were going to be different than non-diabetic cancer patients in chemotherapy. Typical me… I always had to be different.</i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">While dressing for work, I checked on Fluffy in her favorite chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She&nbsp;blankly stared at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My heart was in my throat as I called Dr. Marvin and told him I was going to bring my girl in later that afternoon and put her down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I haven’t cried that hard in a long, long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The only unusual feeling I had while at work was several <b>hot flashes</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Even though I immediately stopped taking the hormone replacement pills three weeks earlier when I was told I might have cancer, I had been spared the much maligned hot flashes experienced by my gal pals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>These hot flashes seemed to be different and I could only assume they were related to the chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I left the office that afternoon about 3:30 and drove slowly to my condo, dreading what I was about to do. When I arrived and pulled the cat carrier from the closet, Fluffy didn’t run from me as usual, she just stayed in her favorite chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I picked her up, placed her in the carrier without a fight and drove the one mile to Dr. Marvin’s office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The staff was quiet when I walked in with Fluffy and told me a room was ready for us. I took Fluffy from the carrier and placed her on the exam table, where a soft towel had been placed for her comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Dr. Marvin walked in and reassured me that I was doing the right thing for Fluffy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(But what about me? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Now, more than ever I needed Fluffy’s comforting nuzzles and therapeutic purring next to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What about me?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He told me to take as long I needed to say good-bye and let him know when it was time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I stroked Fluffy as I explained to her that I could no longer keep her with me just because of my selfishness. I needed to release her from her age-induced, physical burdens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I tapped on the door and Dr. Marvin came in with a vet tech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I continued to stroke Fluffy as the tech stretched </i><em>her out on her side. Dr. Marvin found a vein on her left back leg and injected her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I would rather have taken a bullet to the heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It only took a few seconds for Dr. Marvin to pronounce her “gone.” Again, he left me alone with my girl, my companion, my best friend for nearly two decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He returned a few minutes later, wrapped Fluffy in the towel and said her ashes would be returned to me in about a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thanked Dr. Marvin for his compassion, gathered up the cat carrier and got the hell out of there.</em></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When I turned into my condo complex, I stopped and tossed the cat carrier in the dumpster and made another trip with Fluffy’s litter box and all other reminders of her.</i><br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oFTvDtN4FZg/UbDKP_r9iiI/AAAAAAAAAFA/7xhZh1P6rzQ/s1600/sleeping-pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oFTvDtN4FZg/UbDKP_r9iiI/AAAAAAAAAFA/7xhZh1P6rzQ/s320/sleeping-pig.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I found it <b>difficult to sleep</b> that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>While I thought the <b>insomnia</b> was due to not having Fluffy nearby, it was evident that the harsh night sweats were a contributing factor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Besides the elevated blood sugar, my post-treatment side effects were insomnia and night sweats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>How lovely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I mean we’re not talking about a little perspiration; I was sweating like a sow. The sheets were drenched and no matter how much air was blowing on me, I couldn't get comfortable and fall asleep. It was a long night for several reasons.</i><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">May 31 – </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was 5:00 a.m. and there was no furry feline demanding to be fed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I got up and checked my blood sugar – 159.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Much better. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I dressed for work and made sure my attire included a light sweater that could be tossed aside when the hot flashes hit – and they did, at least a dozen times during the day.<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That night, <b>insomnia</b> was back on the menu, along with the <b>night sweats</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Two nights and no sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>How long would I be able to endure these sleepless nights, I wondered? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I compared this part of the cancer treatment to that of the mythology about the Greeks and the Trojan horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The chemo played the role of the Greeks, running through my veins declaring war on the cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Thinking I was home free after three days of no nausea or vomiting, I accepted the chemo as my friend and cancer-killing colleague.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Just as I let my guard down, the chemo (Greeks) outsmarted me and unleashed havoc on my ability to sleep and my sweat glands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Perhaps this analogy was created purely from sleep deprivation, but it sure made sense at the time.</i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">June 1-2 (weekend) – </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">More sleepless nights and drenched bed sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I ran a few errands, composed my blog, listened to music, and did online research about <b>chemo side effects</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What I was experiencing wasn't unusual, just very frustrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In communicating with friends who recently completed chemotherapy, they confirmed that fatigue from not being able to sleep and night sweats were pretty typical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Okay then,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I can do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I did manage a short nap on Sunday afternoon, which temporarily eliminated the extreme fatigue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Now, I was just ordinarily fatigued. </i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Over the weekend, my blood sugar returned to normal, at least for the time being. I continued to eat light meals comprised of protein, fresh fruits and vegetables, which seemed to help stabilize my system. <o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">June 3 - </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I reported to the office and managed to accomplish a great deal on pure adrenalin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My body was exhausted <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>from lack of quality sleep and my sweat glands were still working overtime. Linda, one of my “go to” office cohorts, borrowed a spare fan from one of the girls in the office, who was dealing with menopausal symptoms of her own and hooked it up, which helped me tolerate the chemo-induced hot flashes that were coming even more frequently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Work and my office friends were keeping me focused on things other than my sweaty body and zombie-like mannerisms.<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That night was no different than the previous five – insomnia, night sweats, and mindless television options. I could hardly wait for the sun to rise.<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">June 4 – </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I awoke and checked my blood sugar and was stunned that it was in the upper 200s again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Crap!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I hadn’t done anything any differently. These yo-yo blood sugar readings were something I was going to have to contend with for the duration of my chemo treatments, so I might as well get used to it. </i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don arrived for date night that <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>afternoon instead of our usual Wednesday outing because I was scheduled for a brain scan the following morning (June 5).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A brain scan: we were lucky to find a heart when the <b>MUGA scan</b> was conducted. Now, the poor radiology techs were going to have to find a brain, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I wondered if the test would indicate that the patient had experienced six sleepless nights and was recreating Greek mythology stories in her head? <o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After dinner, Don and I returned home, where I proceeded to immediately plop on the sofa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The fatigue was beyond anything I had experienced to date. I told Don if I was lucky enough to doze off, just to leave me, which is exactly what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I actually slept for about four hours, even though the night sweats were still prevalent. It was about dang time that slumber made a return visit.</i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">June 5 (brain scan day) – </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Instead of feeling refreshed when I awoke at 5:00 a.m. I felt more like I had the flu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There was no nausea, but I felt achy and the fatigue was worse than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I managed to shower and dress for the trip to UAMS and the brain scan. Don and I arrived at 8 a.m. and made our way to the MRI section of the WRP Cancer Institute. My size 8 rear-end was dragging and all I wanted to do was get through the brain scan and return home to my bed.<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The <b>radiology</b> tech called my name and escorted me to the area where he would search for a vein to inject the contrast dye. He decided on a vein in my left hand, where he inserted the port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>From there, we went to the <b>MRI </b>room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I laid down on the gurney, where the techs placed a cushion under my knees and a cage around my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was given ear plugs just before the gurney moved slowly into the narrow tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In seconds, the noise began and I dozed off – a true sign that I wasn’t feeling well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>About 20 minutes later, the noise stopped and the gurney moved out from under the tunnel, where the tech was waiting with the contrast dye that would be injected into the hand port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Back into the tunnel I went; this time for a mere 10 minutes. At the conclusion of the brain scan, the tech returned to remove the port, then I was outta there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">During the ride home, I had a sudden sharp pain in my lower back that took my breath, followed by another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What on earth, now? I felt like crap and, now, severe back pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Being a retired orthopedic surgeon, Don recognized that the pain was probably from the Neulasta injection I received exactly one week before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Talk about delayed reaction!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Then, I recalled the warnings from both Dr. Makhoul and the lovely RN who injected me with the culprit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s exactly what I was experiencing – pain associated with my bone marrow being in overdrive, making an abundance of white blood cells…just in case. </i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I retreated to the sofa after taking one of the pain pills prescribed a week earlier should the Neulasta kick-in and, boy, did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I slept for about two hours and as long as I was horizontal, the pain was manageable. Hopefully, this will be a fleeting side effect and I can return to work on Thursday. In the meantime, I now understand why my cancer team has been so generous with the prescriptions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>A martyr, I’m not.&nbsp; Give me the drugs.</i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div>Marla Criderhttps://plus.google.com/106946114305627710271noreply@blogger.com2